Because My Knee-socks Wouldn’t Stay Up Like Stockings: My Reasons for Writing and Reading Victorian Romance, Alongside Some Fascinating Tidbits About 1800s England

Guest Author: Judy Lynn Ichkhanian

Let us suppose my sins have caught up with me and I am forced to the rack, there, under threat, to disclose the primary reasons why I write Victorian Romance. Because I’m not a great believer in torture and see no reason to reward my punishers, I might list for those unscrupulous souls a litany of believable reasons that would release me from the torment, to wit: the fun immersion in big, swishy dresses; the over-arching elegance of the period; the prescribed rituals of courtship; the myriad hard and fast rules just begging to be broken; the lack of convenient methods of communication, ripe for plot-worthy misunderstandings; the ability of villains to be truly villainous, with adequate Deus Ex Machina punishments (hear that, oh torturers who have racked me?) hurled down before the evil-doers like a bolt of lightning; and, of course, the existence of some sort of adequate plumbing so a reader isn’t left picturing the heroine doused in toilette water and stinking like an unbathed twelve-year-old fresh from running fields and play in the mud who has discovered her mother’s perfume. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but …

The true reason I write Victorian Romance, is this: when I was a child, I always pulled my knee socks up to mid-thigh and wrapped hair ribbons around them so they would stay up like proper stockings (spoiler alert: they wouldn’t). Of course, the elastic along the tops stretched out of shape, and my mother railed and wept in distress, but no amount of argument could convince me socks belonged at the knee. Why? Past life expression? Weird biological DNA sort of flashback? Some cog or rod or electrical circuit missing in my brain? Perhaps all of the above. The point is, I knew knee socks needed to be tied further up the leg, so I peppered librarians with questions about the subject until, in desperation, they loaded me down with books on Victorian life, thinking, I suppose, the method of stocking-wearing generally fit. A passion was born.

Later still, when I began to immerse myself in Egyptian and Sumerian studies, I discovered the Victorians were once again front and center of my new obsessions. For Victorians, acquiring knowledge was the point. In my novels I like to explore their mad passion for Assyriology (the name they gave the study of ancient Sumer and its succeeding empires). Mid-century, in the ruins of the Library of Ashurbanipal in Nineveh, a gentleman by the name of Hormuzd Rassam discovered 12 cuneiform-embossed clay tablets upon which The Epic of Gilgamesh was inscribed. This Akkadian version, dated between1300 to 1000 B.C.E., was a retelling of an older, previously unknown, tale. It incited a fire in the minds of the Victorians so that Assyriology became the new tech wonder of the time. “Egyptomania” also enflamed Society. Lot # 249, penned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and published in 1892, illustrates how the Victorian’s leaps in imagination translated into art. For a writer who wishes to add a soupcon of intellectual fervor to her novel, what better period than Victoria’s romantic reign in which to do so?

There’s also ready fodder within the period for those screaming for a supernatural element added to their stories. Victoria’s reign saw the influx of seances in which one might communicate with the dead. Imported from Hydesville, New York where Margaret and Kate Fox claimed to have communicated with the dearly departed by a series of knocks in response to posed questions, those table rapping sessions became an accepted pastime. Spiritualism as a movement can be dated to 1848, four years after the first telegraph message was sent. In 1876, the telephone was invented and immediately considered as a means of communicating with the other side. Inventions such as the spirit phone were created to help with those pesky, oft-dropped, trans-worldly calls to the departed (the original dropped cell signal in a dead zone - pun intended). Guglielmo Marconi, the inventor of wireless telegraphy, even sketched out plans for a spirit phone he felt certain could capture and replay every word ever uttered throughout the history of time. To my knowledge, he failed in this endeavor, but what fodder he created for the enterprising novelist!

Finally, one would be remiss not to discuss the scientific leanings of the time. From spiritual to scientific, the Victorian Age was rife with new adventures – and all of these make for interesting background to Romance novels. Innovation and intellectual fervor were encouraged. For example, though the first photograph ever taken predated the Victorian age (1826, by Nicephore Niepce, entitled, “View from the Window at Le Gras”), the mid-to-later-century saw incredible developments within the fledgling field. The first crude, blurry photograph that required 8 hours of exposure was utterly transformed by the 1880s. With Kodak’s advent into the arena, mechanical shutters and the ability to expose images in seconds equalized the affixed representations of nobles and street sweeps alike. Hundreds of detailed pictures could be managed – and the Victorians, in turn, were finally able to say to their grandchildren, “No, no, no! Forget my portrait over there by that man who liked to paint warts and double-chins. This is what I really looked like. Wasn’t I a dish?”

Other inventions for which the Victorian might be credited and which might be readily added as background include the sewing machine (invented in 1845), the flushing toilet (invented in 1851), the light bulb (invented in the 1870s), the telephone (invented in 1876), the bicycle (invented in the 1880s), and the motor car (invented in 1885). And bubbly, fizzy, soda, though previously created, saw its Golden Age in the period between the 1830s and the 1920s. Monstrous gilded, carved, and ornate soda

dispensers became a social focus. Sipping a beverage from such a machine was not meant to simply satisfy one’s thirst, but one’s very soul. These were my people. They honored the drink of kings and common people. Though personal dispensaries were still unusual in 1860, the hero in the second novel of my Raised All Wrong series (“The Midnight Menace”), possesses a personal soda machine in his kitchen. When the family and guests gather around it, the requirements of formality are loosened and the characters are able to relax into each other.  

Victorian Romances can run the gamut of sub-genres because of the immense innovation and creativity of the period. For example, in M. Culler’s, “The Mysterious Misadventures of Mr. Jack,” Jack the Ripper is reimagined in a story that blends history seamlessly with demon hunting. In Maggie Sim’s, “Penelope’s Passion,” the traditional art of baking is given a new, passionate twist when a courtesan tries her hand at it. And who doesn’t love an Amanda Quick novel, in which feisty and intelligent heroines pursue danger and adventure? Invention and change, the hallmarks of the period, serve to amplify not only the romantic pursuits of the characters, but life itself.

In point of fact, the tradition and technical marvels of the Victorian period provide writers and readers with a broader landscape in which to appreciate the foibles and follies of well-dressed characters. The Victorian era stood as a wavery waterline between the old agrarian world with its remote noble class and the industrialized future, where wealth and risk fast gained ascendency over bloodlines. Within a time ever on the cusp, fascinating stories might be writ, one in which the evolution of the human spirit might match the changing nature of the times.

In retrospect, perhaps the Victorians were the wedge between stockings and knee socks after all. Thank you to all librarians. You were prescient and omniscient, as always!

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Judy is the author of “Arabella’s Assistant,” “The Midnight Menace,” (coming soon) and “Primrose and Promises,” (coming soon) - all part of her Assyriology-driven Raised All Wrong series, in which those whose background is a little off from the norm find passion and love in Victorian England. She is also a sort-of-retired litigation attorney, a current homemaker with a propensity to ignore any and all domestic chores, and the mother of an outrageously comedic teenage boy and a fur-baby named Chocolate-the-Dog, so named because he thinks he’s a cat. Judy has been writing since she first learned to read, and has stories constantly going through her head. With a passionate interest in archaeology, most especially alternative archeology, she still hopes to one day uncover the true history of the world. As a graduate of Mount Holyoke College with a degree in Art History, when she ventures away from books, it is to find the nearest art museum or purveyor of High Tea. She has lived in four states and in France, and currently makes her home in North Carolina, which she loves, except for the bugs, snakes, and humidity. Visit her at website for excerpts and information, tall tales and small ones.