The Rise and Fall of Rape on the English Stage, 1660–1720

Anne Greenfield’s monograph, The Rise and Fall of Rape on the English Stage 1660–1720, provides a compelling read which offers an original examination of a remarkably successful dramatic trope of the Restoration and early eighteenth-century English stage: rape. Greenfield argues that while other literary tropes “reflect contemporary anxieties, desires, and ideologies in relatively straightforward ways” (3), rape on the English stage often prompted theatregoers to engage with these scenes in more complex and layered ways. As the book amply illustrates, dramatists of this period often employed this literary trope to not only underscore political arguments but also to highlight and respond to anxieties concerning masculinity and to exploit a thriving demand for theatrical and erotic spectacle. This very versatility of the dramatic trope is key to understanding both the popularity and significance of rape in Restoration and early eighteenth-century English theatre.The introduction contextualizes the subject matter into four sections. In the first section, Greenfield meticulously illustrates that Restoration playwrights depicted rape and attempted rape more frequently and prominently than those of any previous theatrical era—a grand total of fifty-five serious plays between 1660 and 1720. The following section explores how rape emphasized its impact not so much on the raped heroines themselves but rather on their fathers and husbands—“the distressing emasculation and loss of patrilineal property that result from the rape” (8). The next section highlights the book’s exclusive examination of serious plays and its omission of comedies, as Greenfield argues that this approach “allows for a focus on the remarkable (and new) kinds of pathetic responses that were evoked by sexually violated heroines who were viewed sympathetically by viewers” (17). The final section provides a survey of historical scholarship on real-life rape, referencing the work of historians such as Susan Griffin, Susan Brownmiller, and Roy Porter, alongside an overview of studies on dramatic representations of rape in Restoration and eighteenth-century theatre from works by Elizabeth Howe to Jennifer L. Airey. Greenfield deftly untangles the complex web of “a great deal of scholarly disagreement over the past five decades” (17) and positions her own work within this context.Following the introduction are three chapters, arranged chronologically and each divided into distinct “intervals” (19) within the sixty-year period where depictions of sexual violence shifted in form and purpose. Chapter 2 examines the unprecedented surge of rape scenes in serious plays during the 1670s and 1680s, many of which served as highly political commentaries surrounding the issues of the Popish Plot and the Exclusion Crisis. Contemporary politics and conceptions of masculinity were deeply intertwined, as the trope revealed how rape posed critical threats to men, from “scenarios of male powerlessness” to “disrupted primogeniture” (52). The chapter also explores genre, arguing that the rise of rape scenes during this period stemmed in part from these plays navigating a delicate balance between the earlier, more established conventions of heroic tragedy and the emerging “cutting-edge sentimentalism” (52) of pathetic tragedy. Greenfield also convincingly addresses the unsettled question of whether these rape scenes genuinely titillated Restoration audiences. Drawing on a wide range of contemporaneous texts—from trial transcripts to erotica—she demonstrates that rape not only aroused viewers but was also, perhaps surprisingly, regarded as a “beautiful component of high art” (30). In short, the chapter attributes the rise of the rape trope during the 1670s and 1680s to a broad panoply of political, sexual, and cultural factors.In chapter 3, Greenfield turns her attention to the second surge in the number of plays depicting sexual violence at the turn of the eighteenth century. Indeed, the years between 1690 and 1710 saw the emergence of serious plays that uniquely merged Ottoman settings, sexual violence, and Whig political messaging. The unprecedented interest in the Ottoman Empire, fueled by increased information disseminated through trade, piracy, and related events, made Ottoman settings a popular feature in plays. For Whig dramatists, such as Mary Pix, Ottoman settings—both alien and familiar to English audiences—provided a means to use rape scenes as political allegory, exposing the dangers of corruption, abuses of power, and absolute monarchy while sidestepping direct criticism of their own rulers. Ottoman settings also provided opportunities for staging lavish, visually striking depictions of seraglios. As Greenfield notes, “Tellingly, the women’s quarters of the royal seraglio were by far the most common setting for scenes in Ottoman-based plays” (74). This often-overlooked subcategory of tragedy, which combined the rape trope with Ottoman settings, roughly comes to an end with the ascension of George I.After 1715, tragedies centered on female sexual transgression reached their peak in popularity, coinciding with the decline of rape depictions on the English stage. Chapter 4 analyzes this shift from the raped heroine to the sexually culpable heroine, situating this transformation within broader changes in the English political and cultural landscape. Greenfield writes: “As dramatists shifted the blame for lost chastity from men who can’t be trusted (i.e., rapists) to women who can’t be trusted (i.e., seduced women), they delivered political and social messages that were different from those conveyed in earlier tragedies revolving around rape” (104). For instance, plays depicting female sexual transgression not only signaled a decline in political messaging but also shifted the focus from male to female agency. As Greenfield contends, although these heroines were granted more agency, it was framed as a source of concern, mirroring broader cultural anxieties about the reallocation of power from men to women. The final chapter argues that this change toward sexually culpable heroines allowed playwrights to engage with contemporary issues and “illustrated, in unprecedented ways, the complexity of female sexuality and behavior” (118).The afterword, which explores the connection between the development of the rape trope in drama and the rise of the mid-eighteenth-century novel—illustrating how heroines like Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa were modeled after the raped and sexually culpable figures in Restoration and early eighteenth-century plays—provides a fitting conclusion to a highly readable and thoroughly researched monograph.