In a worst-case scenario, Virginia Woolf said, Renaissance women writers would wind up like Judith, Shakespeare’s sister, who, although she was as clever and talented as her older brother, did not amount to anything. Feeling depressed and rejected, she killed herself.  

But Woolf was wrong. Shakespeare had a daughter named Judith. His sister was Joan, and there’s no indication that either woman was suicidal or inclined to write. “Woolf’s doomed vision of women writers in the 15th and 16th century Europe was horribly mistaken,” according to Ramie Targoff. Her latest book, Shakespeare’s Sisters: How Women Wrote the Renaissance, focuses on successful women writers who lived from about 1450 to 1650. 

Often, they began writing because of a pivotal experience, such as a religious conversion, a death in the family, a divorce, being disinherited, or being unjustly treated. Ultimately, these women had a message, Targoff says, and were determined to express it. 

They lived during a time when women were not educated and were mostly illiterate. Only women at the highest level of society, such as Henry VIII’s daughters, Elizabeth and Mary, received an education. A few wealthy women had tutors who taught them to read, write, play music, paint, and dance. But even wealthy women were considered their husbands’ property and were told to keep quiet and let their husbands (whom they called “my lord”) do the talking. Women often tried to hide their work or their names as authors. Only a few sought to be published. Making the situation more difficult, all English books had to be approved by the Anglican Church. Any book that went against the party line was either confiscated or destroyed. 

Then, in the early 1990s, everything changed. According to Targoff, works hidden and neglected for three centuries surfaced, revealing well-written women’s letters, diaries, poems, and memoirs. 

The narrative alternates between different players introduced at the outset with an engaging description of the funeral of Queen Elizabeth I, an occasion that in some way involves the four women who will become major players in the narrative. The jumping around can sometimes be disorienting, with the chapters’ focuses switching as they do from one person’s life and history to another. I also would like to see more samples of the women’s writing itself. 

That said, overall, the book reads like a poetically written novel replete with imagery and figures of sound, as opposed to chapters in a history. Although Shakespeare’s Sisters could be considered scholarly because of its subject matter, the book is written in clear, unpretentious language. Targoff also includes captivating introductions and cliffhanger chapter endings that keep readers turning pages. Resonant details of character, plot, and setting help to bring her story alive. 

Targoff focuses on women who were self-directed despite being born into a society that insisted that women conform to their fathers’ and husbands’ dictates. Take Lady Anne Clifford (1590-1676). In her time, men usually handed down their property to male relatives because women were thought incapable of the responsibility. Titles could only be passed to male heirs. 

When Clifford’s father died, her rightful inheritance went to her uncle. She believed this to be an injustice. It became the subject of much of her writing. A journal-keeper and memoirist, she fought for decades to hold on to her family’s land. And she won. She became a just and considerate landowner and even established Saint Anne’s Hospital, which gave shelter and medical care to the poor — especially older, indigent women.  

During the Renaissance, Catholics and Protestants warred over their theological doctrines. There were Protestant kings and Catholic queens in the same family. King Charles I (1600-1649) was Protestant, for example, while his queen, Henrietta Maria, was Catholic. Though religion affected most English citizens, it hit Lady Elizabeth Cary (1585-1639) especially hard. She converted to Catholicism when she and her Protestant husband lived in Ireland, and thereby destroyed her marriage. She also lost custody of their 11 children. Carey was determined to recover her family and bring about their conversion to Roman Catholicism. 

As religious fighting broke out and the country descended into civil war, Cary wrote translations, letters, essays, and plays, with one of her better-known plays focusing on the Jewish princess Mariam (Herod’s second wife), a woman who spoke “too rashly” and with “a public voice,” as did Cary in her attempts to spread the word. Her daughters, who became Benedictine nuns, wrote The Lady Falkland, a biography of their mother delving further into her religious nature. 

Mary Sidney (1561-1621), Countess of Pembroke, was the most highly regarded of the poets here. Her brother was the famous poet Philip Sidney. She worked with him as he translated the Psalms and other poems. After his death in battle, she was inspired to write her own translations and poems. She became a published poet in her own right and was a friend of William Shakespeare. 

Aemilia Lanyer (1569-1645), possibly Shakespeare’s Dark Lady, was the first English woman in the 17th century to publish a book of original poetry. Her book, Salve Deus Judaeorum, written in iambic pentameter, showcased Pontius Pilate’s wife, who, because of her dream, had warned Pilate not to crucify Christ. Pilate didn’t heed her warning. 

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM THE WASHINGTON EXAMINER

Diane Scharper is a frequent contributor to the Washington Examiner. She teaches the Memoir Seminar for the Johns Hopkins Osher Program.