Anna Beer

The evening before seeing historian and author Anna Beer I’m sat at home, drafting a book review. Most of my reviews are for self-published titles, books where authors need the extra push to help them up the rankings. This particular book is a self-help guide for women navigating the menopause. It’s really good, certainly one of the more informed guides I’ve read in recent months. I finish typing my conclusion, knowing I’ll return to this review at least twice more to make edits before uploading it onto Reedsy. In that moment life feels good.

Barely 24 hours later…

“If I have to read another book on the menopause I’ll throw it across the room!”

It’s a statement that says a lot about the personality of this speaker, a strange mix of fire and frustration blended with ease and informality. Anna Beer has made her entrance.

Beer’s newest publication, Eve Bites Back, puts forgotten female authors front and centre of her historical research. Women like Mary Elizabeth Bradon, who wrote Lady Audley’s Secret in 1861-2 as a serialised publication for sixpenny magazines. She wrote the first instalment in just one evening. Such as the power of her words, when her original publisher ceased trading, another stepped in to print the remainder of the book. Bradon was a household name of her time, a literary celebrity, yet for every hundred mentions of her contemporary Charles Dickens, nowadays you will struggle to find one of Bradon.

Beer pauses for breath, taking only the slightest sip of tap water from her glass. The plight of Bradon isn’t the body of Beer’s argument, quite the reverse, the historian is only just warming up.

Bradon’s fate is not only applicable to the female authors of books, Beer argues. Another example, the poet Emilia Lanier (née Aemilia Bassano) also spent a good portion of her life swimming in the same pool as other masterful contemporaries. A 16th Century creative living in London, Lanier would have known fully of the playwright William Shakespeare, it is believed she was even mixing in the same aristocratic circles as him (although less known about whether the pair ever met).

Lanier was 42 years old when she published Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum, a poetry collection highly praised by all genders, even with its undertones many would now regard as feminist leaning. And yet, once again, in the 21st Century relatively little is known of Lanier. Why? Because, Beer argues, Lanier simply didn’t have the same number of influential promoters as Shakespeare.

Beer smiles, one hand gripping the podium, the other pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s hit her stride, that juicy zone when academics become unstoppable, overwhelming charisma tinged by a slight arrogance. They know they’re right and you can’t help but nod along. Beer rattles through woman after woman, their names piling up like endless bodies cast below the stage we sit before. If she carries on at this rate the whole auditorium will be drowned before the hour is finished.

“I must mention Lady Mary Montague,” she adds between breaths, “oh, and someone ask me about Anna Wickham if there’s time!”

Watching her recount all these unknown literary greats, it makes me both proud and embarrassed to be a woman. Society imprinted on me many of Britain’s literary greats, only now am I realising that all of them just so happened to be white men. If anything Beer’s work proves that there were more female authors out there than can be feasibly brushed under the carpet.

The evening draws to a close and with the round of applause comes a sudden longing for a fresh air. The auditorium at the Swindon Arts Centre empties and, not realising quite how hot I’d become inside, I’m relieved to be sucking in a large mouthful of cool spring air.

Within minutes of getting home my laptop is thrown open and a multitude of female names punched into my search engine. The internet crashes momentarily, I hit refresh multiple times, forcing it on until the algorithm finally caves in to my demands. The more I search the more I’m left wanting and by the end of the night I have an Amazon basket filled with books, not one of which written by a man.

To hear Beer talk so energetically on her book Eve Bites Back and wider literary feminism fills me with optimism for what this field of study can offer us all. Knowing that it took Jane Austen twenty years to convert her thoughts into a recognised publication is also enough to keep my own creative aspirations alive. (Although for what it’s worth, I won’t be forwarding Anna Beer a copy of my menopause book review anytime soon.)