Q & A


that perhaps I might wear the lone screw-on stud. Tis made my mother anxious. She explained that wearing one earring would make people think I was... Here things got a bit vague but I inferred she meant ‘a lesbian’. I never did wear the earring because I’m not a girl for pearls, but this new crumb of knowledge opened up a fascinating prospect: that as a grown-up one could signal something as private as sex to the world. While walking through the streets. While at work. Te world could be full of propositions, offers and invitations to intimacy. And this sexual coding was nothing new. Dominatrices in Weimar Berlin wore


boots whose lace colours signalled their specialties. Gay men can employ the ‘hanky code’ rumoured to have been in use since the days of the San Francisco Gold Rush and now of rich and imaginative complexity: the colour and material of the handkerchief supposedly say one thing (red and white gingham proposes al fresco sex in the nearest park; black velvet, a desire to make films, etc) and the position yet another (leſt pocket, a top; right pocket, a bottom). In 16th-century Venice, attempts were made to identify courtesans by designating certain forms of dress for them – bared breasts, say, or tottering chopines, or men’s breeches – but noble women copied the courtesans and courtesans broke the sumptuary laws and wore pearls, so a man scarcely knew where he was on the Rialto. Te fact that the Venetian courtesans


played fast and loose with the rules strikes a cautionary note. Like many open secrets, sexual coding through dress is subject to urban myth and constant reinvention. In 1984, American agony aunt Ann Landers was asked to explain the significance of men’s earrings to a letter writer. Landers said that if a gay man wore an earring in his right lobe, it meant he was a bottom, and leſt a top. Her next mail sack was full of letters saying that she was wrong, utterly wrong. Men, they wrote, were advertising to the world that they were married or unmarried, Republican or Democrat, or even opposed to the Vietnam War. Instead of a code there was a babel. So put two earrings in your leſt ear and a


hoop, a star and a pearl in your right. Wear a paisley silk handkerchief in your front pocket. and men’s breeches with a string of pearls for a belt. And when someone asks you what your pleasure is, tell them. You can always clarify the matter in bed. SF


QA & Wray Delaney


Wray Delaney is the pen name of Sally Gardner, winner of the Carnegie Medal and best-selling YA author. Delaney has just published her first novel for adults, An Almond for a Parrot, a fantastical erotic romp set amidst the brothels, mansions and back streets of 18th-century London. The book’s heroine, Tully Truegood, is Moll Flanders reimagined – and given paranormal powers – for a new generation of enthralled readers.


Why did you decide to change tack from YA (young adult) fiction and write an erotic novel instead? I feel it was a natural progression to move into adult fiction because there is freedom to be found in the novel, not so much in the ideas but in the execution of the writing. When I write for young adults, I’m aware that I have to be a gatekeeper, conscious of the effect my story will have on them. The same goes for younger children. Writing for adults you can just spread your wings and fly off into forbidden territories.


The character of Tully seems a close kissing cousin of Moll Flanders. Were you inspired by 18th-century literature? The 18th century is my favourite period in history. I especially like its feisty literary heroines like Fanny Hill and Moll Flanders, who both showed outright enjoyment of sex. Such freedom was soon to be lost to women in 19th-century literature, where guilt and morals take over. Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina definitely did not fare so well under the pen of male retribution.


Where did the Fairy House come from? It was based on Mrs Theresa Cornelys, who opened a high-class brothel in Carlisle


house, Soho, known as the Fairy Palace. It was a little later than the date of my book. At the time she was one of the most successful high-class brothel- keepers of her day. Her downfall came when she introduced opera. Not having a licence, her enemies went for her and her Fairy Palace disappeared in a puff of smoke. She died penniless, as so many do.


In the 18th century, sex work was the one of the few ways a woman of humble birth could rise to prominence. Does that intrigue you? In the period I’m writing about, women really didn’t have much in the way of financial assets, because everything they had belonged to their fathers or husbands – apart, that is, from their body and their looks. There are some wonderful stories about women who rose from the gutter to become duchesses. Yes, I know the period is sprinkled with horrendous stories too, but then so is the whole of history. At least in the 18th century there was an honesty about the enjoyment that sex could bring, and all tastes are catered for, unabashed.


Tully has three key lovers in the book: young and virile, old, rich and wise, and female. Which do you think would be best in bed, and why? I think the wise lover appeals to me most. I’m tempted by virile but not so much by rich, because that means nothing in bed. Great wealth does not guarantee great sex. Unfortunately, I never went to bed with a woman so I have no idea as to where that would come on the Richter scale. Still, I think a woman or man who is wise, with a generous dollop of wit, is the recipe for good loving.


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