Book Review: "A Rome of One's Own: The Forgotten Women of the Roman Empire"
Emma Southton's magnificent new book shines much-needed light on some of ancient Rome's most fascinating female figures.
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When I read Emma Southton’s biography of Agrippina a few years ago I was blown away by her skill at capturing the many complexities of one of the ancient world’s most notorious women. So, when I saw that she had another book coming out about the women of ancient Rome, I knew that I had to read it, sure that I was going to be enraptured. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that I was right. To put it quite simply: I loved this book. It’s not every work of popular history that can keep me up past my bedtime for several nights running, but A Rome of One’s Own certainly did so.
To begin with there is Southton’s style. If you’ve read any of her other books, you know that she combines a deep erudition and knowledge of the ancient sources with a razor-sharp wit. She loves little asides, many of which serve to remind us just how silly the past could be, and while to some they might be a bit distracting, to me they helped to inject some much-needed perspective. Far too many people treat historians like Tacitus and Suetonius as if they are some sort of hallowed figures; Southton, however, resolutely sees them for the complicated and flawed human beings that they were and treats them accordingly.
Then there’s the material itself. It’s no secret that the ancients weren’t particularly fond of women, and they very rarely included them in their accounts of the great and powerful (unless, of course, they were considered to be monstrous because they dared to seek out power for themselves). Southton digs deep into the various sources that we have and reads them against the grain and, where possible, she even allows these extraordinary women to speak to us in their own words. As a result, we come to see the profound impact that women had on ancient Roman society at all levels of power. They were not just icons to be held up and venerated but flesh and blood people with all of the complexities and contradictions that entails.
Those looking for some fascinating insights into imperial and royal Roman women will find much to enjoy here. As a long-time devotee of the Severan Dynasty, I was excited to see an entire chapter devoted to Julia Maesa and her daughter Julia Mamaea, both of whom came to wield extraordinary influence from behind the throne. Likewise, Southton paints a sympathetic (if tragic) portrait of Julia Caesar, the high-spirited daughter of Augustus whose promiscuous ways resulted in her permanent banishment from her father’s presence. As Southton reminds us, being the first Roman princess of the Julio-Claudian dynasty was in no way an enviable position. The book concludes with Galla Placidia, a remarkable woman of the 5th century who was truly celebrated for her significant influence over imperial politics as the Western Roman Empire gradually collapsed.
However, Southton doesn’t give in to the temptation to focus only on the powerful or imperial women. She also draws our attention to Julia Balbilla, a poet of the 3rd century who rubbed elbows with the Empress Sabina and left some remarkable poetry on the base of the whistling statue of Memnon. This was a woman who wasn’t content to let historians speak for her. Instead, she wanted to make sure that those who came after her would be able to read her own words. There’s something haunting and powerful about this chapter in particular, as it shows us just how determined many women were to make sure they weren’t completely obliterated by the men in their lives.
Southton ranges far and wide in her examination, taking us outside of the boundaries of Rome and into the frontiers of the empire. Zenobia looms large, of course, because she was one of those who seemed to pose the greatest threat to Rome during the Crisis of the Third Century. Had it not been for the indomitable Aurelian she might have succeeded in her efforts to create a polity of her own. Less glamorous but no less important is Sulpicia Lepidina, who was one of those stationed in Britain and whose letters have been remarkably preserved. Southton brings her into the light so that we can all appreciate this insight into the domestic lives of those living on the Empire’s periphery.
Southton also considers the Christian women whose tribulations at the hands of the Romans provided plenty of fodder for the early practitioners of the faith, and Southon does a fine job of excavating the gendered twists and turns these moments engendered in male writers. As time went on and Christianity became not just accepted but the official religion of the empire as a whole, the role of women began to shift as well. Women like Melania the Elder could wield significant economic and social power, even as they also engaged in the relentless and tedious sort of asceticism that would come to characterize so much early Christian practice.
As Southton remarks at the end of the book, drawing women into the frame of analysis drastically changes how we view ancient Rome. For far too long, men have occupied so much of the narrative space that many have fallen into the trap of believing that antiquity was a predominantly male, white, and patriarchal space. While it is true that men wielded most of the political power in the past, the women of Southton’s book demonstrate the extent to which women lived full and exciting and powerful lives of their own. They weren’t content to just sit at home and weave (though some did so, of course). Instead, they had vibrant inner lives and often engaged with politics, they converted to new and dangerous faiths and accompanied their husbands into faraway provinces. They wrote letters and led armies. In short, they did all of the things that humans throughout history have done as they strode across the stage of history.
We owe Emma Southton a great debt for finally bringing these extraordinary women in the light of history.