Kristen Holt-Browning illuminates women’s lives in the medieval anchorage with her debut novel, Ordinary Devotion. In this interview, Dana Delibovi talks to Kristen about bringing together stories set in 14th-century England and the present day.
DANA DELIBOVI: Ordinary Devotion is historical fiction that weaves together past and present. You created the story of a 14th century English girl sent to serve an anchoress—a woman literally walled up in a church to pray. You juxtaposed this to story of a 21st century woman, medievalist, and adjunct professor. What drew you to the lives of these women? What aspects of your personal history and intellectual explorations led you to write about these women?
KRISTEN HOLT-BROWNING: Ten years ago, I was reading a book about Hildegard of Bingen that mentioned that she may have been enclosed with an anchoress as a child. Why was I reading a book about a medieval mystic nun? I honestly can’t remember exactly, but I was raised as a Catholic, so I’d long had a passing interest in women mystics and saints—primarily because they seemed so utterly and far removed from my own late-twentieth-century, American, suburban experience of Catholicism. In my experience, church was something you did on Sundays, and prayers were to be memorized and recited. But these women seemed to really feel the prayers on their tongues, in their bodies, which fascinated me. As did that little detail about Hildegard being enclosed.
I had to look up what an anchoress was, and when I did, I almost immediately thought, That would make a good story…At the time, I was writing short fiction and, primarily, poems, and didn’t really have any interest in trying to write a novel. Ordinary Devotion actually began as two separate short stories—both of which I put away when I became pregnant with my second child. I noticed the old files on my computer during the pandemic and opened them up—and was surprised to find that they were both decent, if unfinished, stories. That’s when it occurred to me that these stories were halves of an as-yet not-fully-fleshed-out whole.
I didn’t have the mental, emotional, or physical space during the peak of Covid to focus on expanding my stories into a novel, but I was able to go deep on research during that time, reading up on anchoresses, and reading more by medieval women mystics and anchoresses like Hildegard, and Julian of Norwich. I’m fascinated by that era of English history, so it was enjoyable to just focus on the research for a while. I also like to think that the act of research helped put me a bit more into the mindset of the medieval scholar, a modern woman whose life intersects with those of the anchoress and her servant.
DELIBOVI: In Ordinary Devotion, there are so many parallels between Lady Adela, the 14th century anchoress; Elinor, her young aide; and Liz, the 21st century adjunct medievalist. One parallel that really intrigued me was the medieval anchoress as a metaphor for the modern academic woman—can you expand on that?
HOLT-BROWNING: Perhaps unbelievably, I am still finding parallels between I was, however, very aware while writing Ordinary Devotion that I wanted to avoid the trap of drawing too-easy or oversimplified parallels between my protagonists: being stuck in a dead-end job at a cash-strapped college is not the same as being locked up in a cell! I absolutely didn’t want to offer a flattened picture of “women’s experiences,” but I was definitely interested in themes of ambition and limits and how they are often approached by lots of women. Essentially, how might women carve space for themselves and their longings within the confines of patriarchal structures?
Adela and Liz both seek the comfort of the institution, but are struggling to make spaces for themselves within those institutions that will afford them at least some degree of agency. Neither one wants to dismantle the system—but both want to find a wide, flexible path for themselves within that system. It’s this idea of ambition that doesn’t overflow the structure, but takes advantage of as much of the support of that structure as possible.
DELIBOVI: Your book paints a vivid picture of the risks of reproduction and reproductive health for women. How do these risks drive your female characters? Why was that an important theme for you?
HOLT-BROWNING: Simply put, I didn’t think I could reasonably and realistically write about these women without addressing pregnancy and childbirth. Certainly for Adela, Elinor, and all of the women in the fourteenth-century storyline, childbirth and childrearing was an overwhelming aspect—perhaps the defining aspect—of existence. It was the ultimate blessing or an absolute disaster, depending on the context: Was one married? How many children did one already have, and was one in a position to support them financially? Women were, for the most part, expected to give birth to children, under the socially approved conditions.
Liz, of course, has far more agency in this regard in the US in the twenty-first century. I think it’s safe to say that, while women—at least for now?—are not expected or required to have children in the United States, it is still somewhat expected, as one of the “normal” things adults do: you get a job, you have a family. Whether or not they choose to have children, for lots of women, this is a carefully made and conscious decision, and Liz is a careful and conscientious person.
But the experience of women, even now, is that we cannot always control our own reproductive health and decisions fully; we are still, at least somewhat, beholden to physical processes that we cannot completely predict and command. And that is something that arises again and again throughout Ordinary Devotion: we each have some varying degree of self-agency depending on our personal circumstances, but none of us have full control over the unfolding pathways of our lives.
DELIBOVI: Often as I read Ordinary Devotion, I felt the emotions of fear and dread. You do a great job conveying the sense of being imprisoned in a cell and the metaphorical imprisonments of modern life. What craft techniques and imagery did you use to create these emotions in the reader? What writers influenced you in this?
HOLT-BROWNING: I was very aware that I would need to really focus on the sensory aspects of life in the cell for a number of reasons: for one thing, many readers aren’t going to know what an anchoress’s cell is, let alone what it would look like or how it would be laid out. Also, I believed that, faced with life in a single dark room, Elinor herself would become acutely aware of her surroundings, and attuned to the slightest shifts of temperature and light, given how little sensory or physical stimulation she would have in the cell.
I went back and reread Room by Emma Donoghue to see how she was able to write a compelling story around people literally stuck in one place. And I did some slightly wacky things to help with this aspect of the writing, like sitting in dark closets for a period of time, or simply closing my eyes and trying to hone in on my non-visual senses. I even considered trying out a sensory deprivation tank but I chickened out; I’m somewhat prone to claustrophobia—I would not do well in Adela’s cell!
In addition to all that, the sensory and physical details were something I focused on heavily throughout rounds of revision with my editor—she did a great job of really pushing me to describe things like the return of birdsong in spring, and shifting gradations of light across days and months. With half of the book set in a single, tight setting, I knew I ran the risk of a flat, unchanging story. I tried to avoid that by situating Elinor deeply in the cyclical, seasonal nature of time; even in the cell, she experienced the weak light and cold of winter, the longer daylight of summer. I felt that was a very reasonable and honest approach, because as a child of a farmer, Elinor would already be well attuned to the seasons.
DELIBOVI: The Roman Catholic concept of purgatory is woven throughout the book. It is Elizabeth’s field of study, although she has a stronger interest in the lives of religious women. Why did you decide that Elizabeth needed both fields of interest, and the tension between the two?
HOLT-BROWNING: I thought it might be a little too simple or tension-less to present Liz as someone already established as a scholar of medieval religious women. I didn’t want a straight line from her own established line of work to Elinor. Liz’s grad school advisor convinces her to study purgatory instead, as it’s a less crowded field of research than medieval gender. This move from Liz’s preferred area of study to a relatively less popular one helped me show how even academia is touched by market pressures; it will be easier, presumably, for Liz to get a job with a more unique research area to her name. And I also wanted to avoid any rose-tinted portrayals of the university system; UUNY (which is not a real school), where Liz works, is a far cry from the ancient architecture and storied grounds of Oxford.
In addition, Liz’s relatively uninspired turn toward studying purgatory is another way of showing that she is someone who struggles to balance her ambition with her carefulness. She accedes to someone in a position of authority who cautions her to play it safe within that somewhat nontraditional occupational choice. This echoes Elinor, who chafes at being sent to Adela’s cell, yet ultimately acquiesces to the wishes of her elders. And, of course, I couldn’t resist the fact that that purgatory offered so many rich metaphorical parallels with Elinor’s life in the cell with Adela.
DELIBOVI: What does today’s woman have to learn from Elinor, a 14th century servant to an anchoress?
HOLT-BROWNING: Don’t let yourself be enclosed with an anchoress! Joking aside, I hope that readers, especially women, are inspired, moved, and touched by Elinor’s determination to find what joy she can, where she can. Elinor finds solace and stimulation in learning to read, and coming to gradually understand how much comfort and sustenance the natural world brings her. Elinor listens carefully to the world and the people around her, but she also doesn’t shy away from giving voice to her own needs and desires when the time and opportunity for that comes. I think there’s a lot to be said for striving to listen to the world around you, and then add your own voice to that chorus in a thoughtful and meaningful way when the time is right. Personally, I’ve often found myself obsessing over making five-year plans, or telling myself that I need to achieve X by age 30, or Y by age 40. But Elinor reminds me both to focus on what I can control, right in front of me, and also that life can only be planned so much; we are all pushed and pulled by unforeseen currents. I certainly never thought I’d publish my first novel at age 48, and it would be about a medieval anchoress, but here I am!
Kristen Holt-Browning illuminates women’s lives in the medieval anchorage with her debut novel, Ordinary Devotion. In this interview, Dana Delibovi talks to Kristen about bringing together stories set in 14th-century England and the present day.
DANA DELIBOVI: Ordinary Devotion is historical fiction that weaves together past and present. You created the story of a 14th century English girl sent to serve an anchoress—a woman literally walled up in a church to pray. You juxtaposed this to story of a 21st century woman, medievalist, and adjunct professor. What drew you to the lives of these women? What aspects of your personal history and intellectual explorations led you to write about these women?
KRISTEN HOLT-BROWNING: Ten years ago, I was reading a book about Hildegard of Bingen that mentioned that she may have been enclosed with an anchoress as a child. Why was I reading a book about a medieval mystic nun? I honestly can’t remember exactly, but I was raised as a Catholic, so I’d long had a passing interest in women mystics and saints—primarily because they seemed so utterly and far removed from my own late-twentieth-century, American, suburban experience of Catholicism. In my experience, church was something you did on Sundays, and prayers were to be memorized and recited. But these women seemed to really feel the prayers on their tongues, in their bodies, which fascinated me. As did that little detail about Hildegard being enclosed.
I had to look up what an anchoress was, and when I did, I almost immediately thought, That would make a good story…At the time, I was writing short fiction and, primarily, poems, and didn’t really have any interest in trying to write a novel. Ordinary Devotion actually began as two separate short stories—both of which I put away when I became pregnant with my second child. I noticed the old files on my computer during the pandemic and opened them up—and was surprised to find that they were both decent, if unfinished, stories. That’s when it occurred to me that these stories were halves of an as-yet not-fully-fleshed-out whole.
I didn’t have the mental, emotional, or physical space during the peak of Covid to focus on expanding my stories into a novel, but I was able to go deep on research during that time, reading up on anchoresses, and reading more by medieval women mystics and anchoresses like Hildegard, and Julian of Norwich. I’m fascinated by that era of English history, so it was enjoyable to just focus on the research for a while. I also like to think that the act of research helped put me a bit more into the mindset of the medieval scholar, a modern woman whose life intersects with those of the anchoress and her servant.
DELIBOVI: In Ordinary Devotion, there are so many parallels between Lady Adela, the 14th century anchoress; Elinor, her young aide; and Liz, the 21st century adjunct medievalist. One parallel that really intrigued me was the medieval anchoress as a metaphor for the modern academic woman—can you expand on that?
HOLT-BROWNING: Perhaps unbelievably, I am still finding parallels between I was, however, very aware while writing Ordinary Devotion that I wanted to avoid the trap of drawing too-easy or oversimplified parallels between my protagonists: being stuck in a dead-end job at a cash-strapped college is not the same as being locked up in a cell! I absolutely didn’t want to offer a flattened picture of “women’s experiences,” but I was definitely interested in themes of ambition and limits and how they are often approached by lots of women. Essentially, how might women carve space for themselves and their longings within the confines of patriarchal structures?
Adela and Liz both seek the comfort of the institution, but are struggling to make spaces for themselves within those institutions that will afford them at least some degree of agency. Neither one wants to dismantle the system—but both want to find a wide, flexible path for themselves within that system. It’s this idea of ambition that doesn’t overflow the structure, but takes advantage of as much of the support of that structure as possible.
DELIBOVI: Your book paints a vivid picture of the risks of reproduction and reproductive health for women. How do these risks drive your female characters? Why was that an important theme for you?
HOLT-BROWNING: Simply put, I didn’t think I could reasonably and realistically write about these women without addressing pregnancy and childbirth. Certainly for Adela, Elinor, and all of the women in the fourteenth-century storyline, childbirth and childrearing was an overwhelming aspect—perhaps the defining aspect—of existence. It was the ultimate blessing or an absolute disaster, depending on the context: Was one married? How many children did one already have, and was one in a position to support them financially? Women were, for the most part, expected to give birth to children, under the socially approved conditions.
Liz, of course, has far more agency in this regard in the US in the twenty-first century. I think it’s safe to say that, while women—at least for now?—are not expected or required to have children in the United States, it is still somewhat expected, as one of the “normal” things adults do: you get a job, you have a family. Whether or not they choose to have children, for lots of women, this is a carefully made and conscious decision, and Liz is a careful and conscientious person.
But the experience of women, even now, is that we cannot always control our own reproductive health and decisions fully; we are still, at least somewhat, beholden to physical processes that we cannot completely predict and command. And that is something that arises again and again throughout Ordinary Devotion: we each have some varying degree of self-agency depending on our personal circumstances, but none of us have full control over the unfolding pathways of our lives.
DELIBOVI: Often as I read Ordinary Devotion, I felt the emotions of fear and dread. You do a great job conveying the sense of being imprisoned in a cell and the metaphorical imprisonments of modern life. What craft techniques and imagery did you use to create these emotions in the reader? What writers influenced you in this?
HOLT-BROWNING: I was very aware that I would need to really focus on the sensory aspects of life in the cell for a number of reasons: for one thing, many readers aren’t going to know what an anchoress’s cell is, let alone what it would look like or how it would be laid out. Also, I believed that, faced with life in a single dark room, Elinor herself would become acutely aware of her surroundings, and attuned to the slightest shifts of temperature and light, given how little sensory or physical stimulation she would have in the cell.
I went back and reread Room by Emma Donoghue to see how she was able to write a compelling story around people literally stuck in one place. And I did some slightly wacky things to help with this aspect of the writing, like sitting in dark closets for a period of time, or simply closing my eyes and trying to hone in on my non-visual senses. I even considered trying out a sensory deprivation tank but I chickened out; I’m somewhat prone to claustrophobia—I would not do well in Adela’s cell!
In addition to all that, the sensory and physical details were something I focused on heavily throughout rounds of revision with my editor—she did a great job of really pushing me to describe things like the return of birdsong in spring, and shifting gradations of light across days and months. With half of the book set in a single, tight setting, I knew I ran the risk of a flat, unchanging story. I tried to avoid that by situating Elinor deeply in the cyclical, seasonal nature of time; even in the cell, she experienced the weak light and cold of winter, the longer daylight of summer. I felt that was a very reasonable and honest approach, because as a child of a farmer, Elinor would already be well attuned to the seasons.
DELIBOVI: The Roman Catholic concept of purgatory is woven throughout the book. It is Elizabeth’s field of study, although she has a stronger interest in the lives of religious women. Why did you decide that Elizabeth needed both fields of interest, and the tension between the two?
HOLT-BROWNING: I thought it might be a little too simple or tension-less to present Liz as someone already established as a scholar of medieval religious women. I didn’t want a straight line from her own established line of work to Elinor. Liz’s grad school advisor convinces her to study purgatory instead, as it’s a less crowded field of research than medieval gender. This move from Liz’s preferred area of study to a relatively less popular one helped me show how even academia is touched by market pressures; it will be easier, presumably, for Liz to get a job with a more unique research area to her name. And I also wanted to avoid any rose-tinted portrayals of the university system; UUNY (which is not a real school), where Liz works, is a far cry from the ancient architecture and storied grounds of Oxford.
In addition, Liz’s relatively uninspired turn toward studying purgatory is another way of showing that she is someone who struggles to balance her ambition with her carefulness. She accedes to someone in a position of authority who cautions her to play it safe within that somewhat nontraditional occupational choice. This echoes Elinor, who chafes at being sent to Adela’s cell, yet ultimately acquiesces to the wishes of her elders. And, of course, I couldn’t resist the fact that that purgatory offered so many rich metaphorical parallels with Elinor’s life in the cell with Adela.
DELIBOVI: What does today’s woman have to learn from Elinor, a 14th century servant to an anchoress?
HOLT-BROWNING: Don’t let yourself be enclosed with an anchoress! Joking aside, I hope that readers, especially women, are inspired, moved, and touched by Elinor’s determination to find what joy she can, where she can. Elinor finds solace and stimulation in learning to read, and coming to gradually understand how much comfort and sustenance the natural world brings her. Elinor listens carefully to the world and the people around her, but she also doesn’t shy away from giving voice to her own needs and desires when the time and opportunity for that comes. I think there’s a lot to be said for striving to listen to the world around you, and then add your own voice to that chorus in a thoughtful and meaningful way when the time is right. Personally, I’ve often found myself obsessing over making five-year plans, or telling myself that I need to achieve X by age 30, or Y by age 40. But Elinor reminds me both to focus on what I can control, right in front of me, and also that life can only be planned so much; we are all pushed and pulled by unforeseen currents. I certainly never thought I’d publish my first novel at age 48, and it would be about a medieval anchoress, but here I am!
Ordinary Devotion: A Novel, by Kristen Holt-Browning, is published by Monkfish Book Publishing. Click here to visit the publisher’s website, or buy this book on Amazon.com | Amazon.ca | Amazon.co.uk
Dana Delibovi is Consulting Poetry Editor of Cable Street and author of Sweet Hunter: The Complete Poems of St. Teresa of Ávila
Subscribe to Medievalverse
Related Posts