By Ellie Lange

While it’s true that C. L. Pirkis’s Loveday Brooke is not the first or only woman detective to dazzle the pages of Victorian periodicals, she certainly is original. Independent, unapologetic, and career-focused, Loveday Brooke shatters gender stereotypes in more nuanced ways than other female detectives of her time. Yet she is defined by her career accomplishments rather than her gender. Pirkis’s Loveday Brooke deserves a place in the literary canon not only for its uniquely independent, role-defying heroine but also for its importance to the history of feminist thought. Although gender bias often infiltrated criticism of novels by women writers, Loveday Brooke still received widespread recognition during its own time. However, Victorian critics were not the only ones impressed by Pirkis’s beloved detective stories: as feminist thought flourished in the twenty-first century, so did interest in Loveday Brooke. The critical reception of Loveday Brooke both in the nineteenth century and today demonstrates why it makes an essential contribution to the history of women’s literature.

To fully understand the critical reception of Pirkis’s Loveday Brooke, it is important to examine the professional barriers women writers faced during the Victorian era. Throughout the nineteenth century, women writers often faced gender stereotypes and a critical double standard in reviews of their work. Stereotyped as overly emotional, sentimental, and romantic, women writers were expected to fulfill these gender expectations in their novels. If they didn’t replicate these stereotypes, they often faced a harsh backlash, yet even when they conformed to critical expectations, they were criticized for being too emotional.[1] Because of this, many women writers attempted to feminize their public identities: to prove that their writing could be “an extension of their feminine role.”[2] Driven by Victorian notions of privacy, which frowned upon self-disclosure, female writers were often uncomfortable exposing their experiences in their writing.[3] Given all the baggage that came with being a woman writer, many opted to use pseudonyms to conceal their gender. However, even this came with its own set of issues, for critics often attempted to determine the gender of the author through an analysis of so-called feminine and masculine traits in the story.[4] Unfortunately, Pirkis battled these gender stereotypes even after she switched her byline to a pseudonym later in her career. In 1885, for example, a reviewer of her novel Lady Lovelace wrote that “‘feminine authorship can hardly be doubtful to any discerning reader,’ as no man could draw ‘so relentless a portrait of any woman.’”[5] However, as Gavin notes, Pirkis was quick to assert her anonymity to reviewers who claimed to know her gender, boldly correcting a critic of her novel Di Fawcett who dared to call her “Miss.”[6]

Overall, Pirkis’s use of pseudonyms proved advantageous when it came to reviews of her novel. As was her desire, her gender was mostly left out of notices of Loveday Brooke; the focus instead was on her skill as a writer, just as her novel focused on Loveday’s skills as a detective. Most assumed Pirkis to be a man: for example, in the Dundee Courier and Argus, one critic wrote that “the popularity of detective stories generally encourages the belief that Mr Perkis’ [sic] volume will meet with a gratifying measure of public favour.”[7] Another review in the Glasgow Herald is bold enough to suggest that the author may be a woman, referring to her as “Mr (or Miss),” but for the most part, critics did not guess that this remarkable series was written by a woman.[8] Instead, the reviews focused on the features that set Loveday Brooke apart from other examples of the genre: its gripping plot and remarkable heroine.

Several reviews compared Loveday Brooke to the Sherlock Holmes series and other detective serials, many agreeing that Loveday stood out above the majority of works in the genre. This included 1894 reviews in the Manchester Guardian, Pall Mall Gazette, and Speaker. The Speaker writes, “The lamented Sherlock Holmes has bequeathed to us a number of successors, of the majority of whom it may be safely averred that they are unworthy to brush their great exemplar’s boots. But in that majority we shall certainly not include the beautiful and accomplished ‘Loveday Brooke, lady detective.’”[9] Thus, it is clear that Loveday Brooke captured the attention of critics and rose above the sea of detective novels. However, it should be noted that such a positive reception was not universal. Although most critics at least found Pirkis’s novel “agreeable” and “readable,” some argued that there was a “fatiguing sameness” in the way Loveday solved each mystery.[10] In spite of this, almost all reviews pointed to Loveday Brooke’s cleverness, one in particular calling Loveday “indeed a very remarkable lady.”[11]

Loveday Brooke’s uniqueness as a devoted career woman led twenty-first-century scholars to study the series as an essential piece of feminist literature. Although critics in 1894 often painted Loveday’s extraordinary intelligence as her defining feature, for feminist scholars, it was Pirkis’s groundbreaking portrayal of an independent female detective that was so significant. Critics note that Loveday is entirely focused on her detective career, something achieved through hard work and grit rather than inheritance, and thus, there is no room for romance in her story. As Kestner writes, Loveday is completely independent; she functions without a romantic partner, sidekick, or friend of any kind.[12] Her personal life, in fact, is kept almost completely private, and her success is defined entirely through her career. This is likely very intentional on Pirkis’s part, who herself was adamant that women should be judged on their public (or professional) life rather than their private life or gender.[13] Thus, Loveday tackles her detective work unapologetically and unflinchingly owns her career. As Gavin writes, she “enters her profession without ‘excuse’; her right to her career is not questioned, her skills are unassailable, and her independence and professionalism are almost total.”[14]

However, scholars acknowledge that this does not mean that Pirkis ignores the gender struggles of a Victorian female detective: many times, Loveday Brooke’s logic is questioned by men who disagree with her. Yet she always comes out on top, and, as Kestner writes, Pirkis skillfully defends Loveday’s career by “putting the defence of the profession in the declaration of a male character.”[15] In spite of those who doubt her, and the limitations she faces as a woman, Loveday Brooke still finds confidence in herself and her accomplishments. As Elizabeth Carolyn Miller writes, “Brooke’s profession underscores the power of her gaze, despite her gender, and in this way Pirkis’s stories register a larger shift at the end of the nineteenth century toward power through professionalism and specialized knowledge as opposed to power derived solely from social position.”[16] Loveday Brooke is thus innovative in the way it portrays a woman whole-heartedly dedicating her life to her career, judged solely for her professional skills rather than her gender. It did so at a time when a woman’s identity was tied to her domesticity, and in spite of this, it still went on to earn widespread acclaim among readers who likely would not have typically been interested in New Woman fiction.[17] In doing so, Loveday Brooke deserves recognition as one of the most successful—and revolutionary—examples of the detective fiction genre.

By placing Loveday Brooke alongside prominent titles in feminist literature, we rightfully recognize its place in history as a pioneering portrayal of a woman unafraid to defy gender expectations and insist on her value as a person regardless of her gender. In doing so, we are able to examine the often-neglected historical context of both Victorian women writers such as Pirkis and the battles all Victorian women faced when pursuing a career. As we continue to fight for equality and celebrate female leadership for its diversity and uniqueness, it makes sense to turn to models such as Pirkis’s Loveday Brooke in order to understand where we came from and where we still need to go.

Notes

[1] Elaine Showalter, A Literature of Their Own: British Women Novelists from Brontë to Lessing (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), 73.

[2] Ibid., 85.

[3] Ibid., 81.

[4] Ibid., 90.

[5] Adrienne E. Gavin, “‘C. L. Pirkis (not “Miss”)’: Public Women, Private Lives, and The Experiences of Loveday Brooke, Lady Detective,” in Writing Women of the Fin de Siècle, eds. Adrienne E. Gavin and Carolyn Oulton (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 142.

[6] Ibid., 142.

[7] Carolyn Oulton, ed., New Women Fiction: 1881–1899 (London: Pickering and Chatto, 2010), 179.

[8] Ibid., 175.

[9] Ibid., 177.

[10] Ibid., 176–79.

[11] Ibid., 175.                              

[12] Joseph A. Kestner, Sherlock’s Sisters: The British Female Detective, 1864–1913 (London: Routledge, 2017), 72.

[13] Gavin, “C. L. Pirkis,” 138.

[14] Ibid., 140.

[15] Kestner, Sherlock’s Sisters, 73.

[16] Elizabeth Carolyn Miller, “Trouble With She-Dicks: Private Eyes and Public Women in The Adventures of Loveday Brooke, Lady Detective,” Victorian Literature and Culture 33, no. 1 (2005): 52.

[17] Gavin, “C. L. Pirkis,” 140.