The Petersen House

There essentially remain two Victorian homes left in the Phoenix area: the Rosson House in downtown and the Petersen House in Tempe. The former I have great familiarity with, but the latter I had never been to up until this past weekend. It was high time. The trouble with visiting the Petersen House is that it isn't open very often. You can catch it this December, all decked out for Christmas, on weekends between eleven and three.

The comparison and contrast between the two Victorian homes is fascinating. The Petersen House was built just a couple of years before the Rosson House. Its rooms are bigger, though it has perhaps slightly less of them; I wonder if the square footage of the two isn't about the same. The Petersen House seems bigger, but then again the staircase does take up quite a bit of space in the Rosson House. The Rosson House has quite a bit of elaborate wood details (and those beautiful ruby glass transoms), but the Petersen House has delightful details, as well. Stained glass in a couple of places and little reflective corners on the stairs to help to be able to see each step in limited light. 

Furnishings are nice, as well, in particular the master bedroom set. And the stove in the second bedroom. And the milk glass lamps. The upstairs floor seemed to have more trinkets than the downstairs, no? The parlor/living area downstairs was fairly plain for a Victorian home, perhaps to allow for the Christmas decorations. 

I'm less aware of what the restoration for this house was like. The Rosson House had an extensive restoration because it had been changed so much--but has been brought back mainly to its original state. Because the Petersen House didn't change hands so often, it seems not to have had quite the same experience. It did, interestingly, receive some changes to the outside at least after the 30's: poplar styles changed then just as they do now. So Victorian elements were changed to Craftsman Bungalow style. It gives the outside of the house a particular look today: Victorian bones combined with those distinctive Craftsman columns. Here we also have a chance to see what the Rosson House almost looked like; the brick is painted red, which they started doing for the Rosson's restoration before they figured out how to safely removed the white paint to expose the original brick. The extra paint adds to the dollhouse look, which furthers the contrast with the Craftsman porch. 

It's quite a fun house to explore and a definite must if you live in the area or happen to be visiting when it's open. I do love a cozy Victorian home, especially cozy on this rainy weekend we just had. 

A Non-History History of the Corset

On first picking up The Corset and the Crinoline: An Illustrated History by W. B. Lord, one might assume to be picking up a well-researched, perhaps rather dry non-fiction text that describes all of the contexts in which the corset has been used as well as the various cultures, fabrics, patterns, fashions, and attitudes towards said garment. The title, though, is slightly misleading.

The book begins that way. It begins talking about different historical cultures who used some type of corset (although the title also mentioned crinolines, the main content matter is corsets) and how the style of that garment developed (or rather stayed much the same) over the centuries. All quite interesting, if more brief than I'd expected. Once you pass the book's halfway point, though, you arrive at the middle of the nineteenth century and the text becomes a commentary on the philosophies behind the corset instead of simply a history of the corset.

Because there you have it: this book was originally published in 1868, when the corset was in use in full force. So it becomes quite a biased look and in fact contains a rather draining "conversation" about whether or not corsets are beneficial. There are pages of letters written to a lady's magazine from various people all responding to one another's comments. While I do love reading firsthand accounts and that sort of thing, these were like looking at social media comments. Tedious, biased, and of questionable truth. That is in itself interesting to study but like I said, tedious, especially coming from a modern perspective on corsets.

And no, my perspective isn't that they were simply a horrendous contraption. You have to look at them as a whole. They were horrendous; I can't stand any modern fashion accessory that remotely resembles a corset in terms of tightness. But most women were not wealthy and from what I understand, women who had to work either at jobs or maintaining their households did not wear corsets tightly. And a corset that is simply form-fitting (made specifically for the individual) rather than tightened up isn't entirely unlike the heavy-lifting girdles you still see people using today when doing manual labor. It can in fact be good back support if made and used in a certain way. Part of this includes not tightening over the chest--which even this book makes sure to mention is a bad practice.

So tangent aside, this book is more of a historical text centered around corsets than a history of corsets. You'll learn a little about fashion and materials but not too much. And in fact, you'll learn even less if you're not already familiar with some basic terms. Given that this book was written in 1868, it assumes an 1868 knowledge of clothing. Even crinoline is a word that not all modern readers will be aware of (you would probably know it as a hoop skirt, though it was not always in the shape of a hoop and so was not always called a hoop skirt). I suppose all this means that it's quite a niche title. Still a good read, though, if you are interested in this niche--and there are indeed plenty of illustrations, which is wonderful.

American Victorian & Timeless Style

I was reading American Victorian for a bit of study in Victorian architecture and style, but the book brought up some observations about my theory on style in general. It reminded me that the reason I love Victorian style so much isn't just because I like the wood and the colors and the designs, etc.; it's because I like the theory of Victorian style.

This book was published in 1984 as a kind of guidebook during the Victorian revival of the 1980's; it gives quick outlines on certain traits of Victorian style through the years (the Victorian era covers a wide range of years with significant changes throughout), suggesting how readers might incorporate these elements into their homes in the present day. The message is repeated that only museums need to strive for 100% historical accuracy; homes have the freedom to take the spirit of the style and make it livable. (Using a present day sofa is one of the quickest examples of this.) And that works better with Victorian style than any other historical style because Victorian style was itself eclectic as far as the sources of inspiration and as far as its use of historical elements.

Renaissance, Gothic, Colonial elements all start to reappear during the Victorian era. They might not stand out so much to the casual observer because they're all "old" so they just blend in. But the fact that Victorian style used historical influences (and world influences) means that it's easier to blend in present day influences, as well. 

I have a gorgeous Eastlake etagere in my living room on whose shelves is a clay dinosaur bank from the mid-20th century or thereabouts and I also have a Mary Coulter Southwest side table for my TV and Disneyland silhouettes on another side table and R. Atkinson Fox prints on the walls and a whatnot shelf with cast iron pigeons on it. None of it really "goes together" in the sense of creating a historically Victorian space. It isn't Victorian at all in that sense; I'm not even trying in that sense. But that's the point: I'm the present day Victorian putting together my space. 

The TV and book titles are pretty much the only things in the living room that give away the year of this space. It doesn't look Victorian because there are obvious 20th century elements (even apart from the 21st century things like the TV). But it also doesn't look too much like any one time period in particular--except that it is most highly influenced by the Victorian. As such, even if I were to stay in this space for 50 more years, it would never need "redecorating." It would never need to be updated because it was its own style to begin with. Only those little elements, those little tokens from the present day, would change along the way so seamlessly while the core concept, the central idea of style, remained the same. 

When Did I Become a Victorian?

The nineteenth century has always been my era. Always. Even from before I knew what the nineteenth century meant in comparison to other centuries. Or even what a century really meant.

Why, though?

Maybe because my family watched a lot of nineteenth century period films while I was growing up. It wasn't something my parents grew up with--but together we all watched a lot of those family classics like Oliver Twist and A Little Princess (which, granted, is twentieth century, but in that early part of the new century) and Little Women. When my mom suggested I choose one of the American Girl books at the bookstore, I chose Samantha's book--again, Samantha is technically twentieth century, but she was designed as the Victorian American Girl. I watched Wishbone and many of the classics presented in there are Victorian. I discovered Little House on the Prairie on my own and then ended up watching the show, too. In the first place where I volunteered, I would dress up in Victorian garb--because I absolutely loved Victorian garb.

So I don't know. Was the Victorian era just familiar to me because I'd had it around? Or was I naturally gravitating toward it? In high school, I hoped to live in one of the Victorian houses in Prescott someday--and then I ended up giving that dream away to a character in my first published novel. In college, I was able to state that nineteenth century was my focus--which meant that I tried to take the best of the nineteenth century classes but also to make sure that I deliberately took classes outside of that focus, too, while I had the opportunity to dig into topics I had maybe less interest in.

And so when I was working on a project with my Shakespeare and Performance professor, I had already mentioned that I wasn't much of a fan of Shakespeare (and that that very reason was why I was in the class, to gain a greater appreciation of his work--something which I did in fact get, by the way). My professor, as a way of bringing in my personal interest, asked me what it was about the Victorian era that I liked. I had to define it for once. By this point, it wasn't about the dresses or the braided hair anymore. While I don't remember my full answer, I remember mentioning the nature thing and the highly emotional quality of Victorian literature. These qualities also refer to the Romantics (ah, John Keats, the subject of every lit student's literary crush), who are partly in that very beginning of the nineteenth century.

It's funny because Victorians are in some ways known for the exact opposite of those things. Strong expressions of emotion? What about the uptight, morally strict Victorian stereotype? Lots of use of nature? But isn't the Victorian era all about stuff--the beginning of the Industrial Revolution and eclectic designs and complicated architecture?

Ah, yet there it is, the core of the matter. An inside and an outside--that's the thing I love about the Victorian era. The Victorian on the outside is controlled and on the inside feels deeply. The era may be all about advances in technology but the art is all about symbolism in the natural world. Dualities, dualities.

I am a Victorian. Control and chaos both. Use the technology and those aspects of the modern world but also look to the natural world for beauty and inspiration. I've always been a Victorian.

Hanging with the Historical

For close to a year now, I've been hanging out at a historical house one to four times per month. I give three 50-55 minute tours in three hours to groups of one to sixteen people, some local but mostly out-of-state visitors. That means that I am representative of Phoenix, of Arizona, of the Southwest, of the U.S., of the Victorian era, of historic homes, and of museums. No pressure, eh?

A couple of weeks ago, there was a girl maybe about nine years old who had just really enjoyed seeing the house. A few months ago, we had a lot of college students because there was a class that required them to visit. I remember one of them in particular who'd had that look of genuine, kind of unexpected interest at many of the things I talked about or pointed out (like the stereoscope). Sure, it's great to talk to people who already love historic homes, but to see that first spark of interest is quite a gift.

I've alluded before to the fact that I'm repeating myself over and over on these tours. It's come to the point where I have my basic spiel and most of it I will give on every single tour. So I've said the exact same sentences many times--each time, though, I say them like I'm saying them for the first time because I know that this group in front of me is hearing them for the first time. And as I try to keep that in mind, that also brings me back around to considering my audience.

When there are at least a couple of children ten years old or younger, I tend to not bring up too many years. To say that the original owner was born in 1851 is pretty irrelevant to them since most children don't really have a concept of 1851 versus 1891 or 1811, anyway. I'll try and also bring in more comparisons to the modern day when there are children on a tour, just to give them a connection. And I don't tell the prohibition story when there are children.

We all kind of have our special angles and focuses and areas of interest when we give tours in this place; they do want us all to have different tours rather than for all of us to just be parroting the same spiel. Architecture is not my special angle. But when I notice that someone is interested in architecture, maybe I'll bring up some extra tidbits that I don't usually talk about. Maybe I'll talk a little more about wood that was painted over or which fireplaces are reproductions, things like that.

We like to encourage questions, but a lot of questions have a two-sided effect on a tour. They keep things fun, but they also take up time. Sometimes someone will ask a question that I was about to answer with my spiel (or maybe that I normally talk about at a later point). Rather than saying, "I'll get to that later," I answer their question with all of this info as if their question launched this great conversation that wouldn't otherwise have happened. That encourages them to ask more questions and keeps them engaged. If, however, I am getting lots of questions about things that I don't normally talk about, well, the tour might start running long. I always have about a five minute or so cushion of time that I can go over (if I aim for 50 minutes, then I can go up to 55 minutes and still have time to start the next tour on the hour). If that's the case, I might have to start cutting. Maybe I'll cut out a little story here or there or maybe I'll just bundle up a few sentences into quicker comments.

It's great practice for talking, to be able to treat your spiel as a fluid thing. You're thinking ahead while still keeping an eye on what you're saying (can't let your mind wander too much or you might start saying the wrong sentence at the wrong moment).

And it's amazing to see that you are the one shaping someone's impression of a place. Someone who only had a spare hour while attending a work conference in Downtown Phoenix chose to spend that spare hour here. A couple visiting from England put down this spot on their list of places to visit. A woman who brought her out-of-town relatives here. Etc., etc. Other than the fact that I love that house and I love the Victorian era, it's amazing to see how places like this can bring people together to one space.