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Good afternoon all, I am here today to present my paper on Feminism and

Fashion in The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley.

Arthurian literature often suffers from the gendering of heroism: the

heroes are knights in shining armour, leaving women to be portrayed as damsels

in distress or as evil sorceresses. Since its earliest retellings, the attention is

always on the adventures of the Knights of the Round Table and their acts of

chivalry, leaving the female characters on the sidelines. Women often do not

exist as independent beings in the Arthurian myth, because unlike men, they do

not occupy a definite role and space in the social order and subsequently exist

more as symbols than individuals. Even powerful female characters such as

Morgan le Fay and Vivienne, the Lady of the Lake, serve as plot devices with

little attention paid to their motives despite their importance within the story.

Herein lies the importance of the overtly feminist The Mists of Avalon within

the Arthurian canon, as Bradley tells the story solely from the point of view of

the female characters. The events of the novel take place in either Britain or the

Isle of Avalon, and these represent the two different zones occupied by women

in Arthurian society, illustrating the difference with which fashion, as a means

by which women construct their identities, or have their identities constructed

for them, is treated in a patriarchal society (in the case of Britain) and a

matriarchal society (in the case of Avalon).

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The Isle of Avalon is a feminist utopia dedicated to the service of the

Goddess, a place where women are educated in topics ranging from medicine to

religion, and most importantly, they learn to use clairvoyant magic, which

Bradley refers to as the Sight. The women of Avalon wear “dark-dyed dresses

with overtunics of deerskin” (132) – comfortable clothes that can be flung on, as

Vivienne’s attendant does upon waking. Moreover, on Avalon, the status quo

that dictates the behaviour of women in Britain does not exist, for when

Lancelet and Morgaine climb a hill together, he worries if she can scale it in her

long skirts. She shrugs off his concern and tells him that if they get in her way,

she would not hesitate to tuck them up above her knees. Her answer surprises

him, and he tells her that “most women I know would think themselves too

modest to show their bare legs” (149). Morgaine’s retort is a reminder of the

restrictions women face outside Avalon, for she says: “I have never thought

modesty had much to do with bared legs for climbing – surely men know that

women have legs like their own. It cannot be so much of an offense of modesty

to see what they must be able to imagine” (149). Her words call attention to the

feminist notion that the identity of a woman is constructed through regulated

practices, which involves defining a woman by what she should not do, no

matter how impractical or insensible such practices are.

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Later, after they hunt waterfowl, Morgaine’s clothes are soaked, and she

pulls off her deerskin tunic and skirt to dry, “standing unselfconsciously in her

undershift of unbleached linen” (155). However, her ease and comfort in her

appearance is soon undermined when she meets Gwenhwyfar for the first time,

then a lost child who strayed into Avalon. In The Mists of Avalon, Gwenhwyfar

is the pinnacle of beauty, “dazzlingly pretty… all white and gold, her skin pale

as ivory just stained with coral, her eyes palest sky-blue, her hair… like living

gold” (157). When the two meet, the child Gwenhwyfar delivers an artless

comment to Morgaine that will haunt her throughout the novel: “you are little

and ugly like one of the fairy people” (158). Instantly, Morgaine’s perception of

herself changes from self-confident to self-conscious, for she sees herself

“as she must look to Lancelet and to the strange golden maiden – small, dark, with the barbarian blue sign on her forehead, her shift muddy to her knees, her arms immodestly bare and her feet filthy, her hair coming down… She felt a surge of self-hatred, of loathing…” (158)

Despite existing on the fringes of society, Avalon is not exempt from patriarchy

and its standards of beauty, which women are extremely aware of and measure

their value by. Even Vivienne admits that as a young woman, she would have

gladly exchanged her soul and all her power for the tawny and russet beauty her

sister, Igraine, had.

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Although Avalon may be fading into the mists and its priestesses appear

to be visitors from the otherworld, the Lady of the Lake is still involved in the

fate of Britain, for Vivienne is the kingmaker who sets Uther, Arthur’s father,

on the High King’s throne. When Vivienne sees a young Arthur lying

motionless through the Sight, she immediately rides for Uther’s court, dressed

in men’s breeches, preferring functionality over fashion – a reminder of the

freedom the women of Avalon possess. Upon entering the masculine social

order of Britain, even Vivienne conforms to the expectations of its social order,

for on her way to the sickbed of the injured child Arthur in her travelling

clothes, she regrets being unable to present herself in an outfit befitting her

position as the Lady of Avalon. Before she speaks to Uther about his children,

she dresses to impress, changing into a gown in a shade of green finer than

anything available in Britain. Vivienne is the only woman who can speak as an

equal to men, setting terms and giving advice that even the High King has little

choice but to obey, when she insists that Arthur should be fostered elsewhere

and that Morgaine should come with her to Avalon to become a priestess. Uther

emphasises the unique sphere the Ladies of Avalon occupy when he tells her:

“You are wise… I wish you were a foolish woman I could despise, damn you!”

(129)

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After Vivienne, Morgaine should be the next Lady of the Lake, but after

she realises that Vivienne had orchestrated the Great Marriage such that

Morgaine ended up sleeping with her half-brother Arthur in order to continue

the line of Avalon and protect the Goddess, she flees the island. Once she leaves

Avalon, Morgaine’s autonomy becomes limited and she has to conform to the

status quo of Britain. Within Britain, the symbols that shape a woman’s destiny

are the clothes she wears, for these reflect the circumstances of her birth and

subsequently, her marriageability. Through this, Bradley illustrates the feminist

notion of the woman as a construct, with her primary value lying in her physical

being, within the male-dominated social order of Arthurian society and its

ruling aristocracy of Romanized British lords. These men have a highly

sexualized view of a woman’s body, tying her value to her physical being: her

duty is to bear her husband’s sons, and to be a trophy, reflecting his wealth and

status. As Judith Butler points out in Gender Trouble, “as wives, women not

only secure the reproduction of the name… but effect a symbolic intercourse

between clans of men” (39). This symbolic intercourse is the reason why many

of the men within the novel insist on controlling their wives, viewing them as

property instead of individuals.

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Igraine, mother to Arthur and Morgaine, has her first husband, the Duke

of Cornwall, Gorlois (Gorl-wah), governing her life. He gives her “jewels and

beautiful things, trophies of war, had surrounded her with ladies to wait upon

her, and treated her always as his equal, except in councils of war” (4).

However, as Igraine draws closer to Uther, the only man who looks beyond her

gender and discusses state matters with her, Gorlois (Gorl-wah) becomes

jealous. From his point of view, she does not have an identity outside of his, and

he turns abusive. However, because Igraine is married off by her sister and was

raised on the matriarchal Isle of Avalon, when her husband hits her, she stands

up to him, telling him: “Touch me at your peril, Gorlois, or I shall teach you

that a daughter of the Holy Isle is no man’s slave nor servant!” (48) Their

argument over Uther ends with her rejecting the costumes of her gender given

to her by Gorlois – a silver mirror, an amber necklace, and a new gown – as she

throws them at his head. Igraine then prepares to leave, taking only the gowns

she had woven with her own hands and the moonstone necklace given by her

sister. Gorlois holds on to her and declares war on Uther not because he loves

her, but because she is a symbol of his pride and masculinity.

Gwenhwyfar enters a similar loveless marriage with Arthur, the new

High King of Britain, in which she is the object of exchange, facilitating trade

and consolidating the internal bonds of the parties involved.

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Her father asks Arthur to marry her in return for horses, and he accepts for the

good of his kingdom. Gwenhwyfar is aware of her position as a symbol, for she

tells Igraine: “I don’t think Arthur cares for beauty… he did not even send to

inquire if I were cross-eyed or one-legged or had a squint or a harelip” (269). In

spite of this, she still finds solace in the idea that her life is dictated by men, for

when she hears of Arthur’s nervousness, she thinks: “Poor Arthur… this

marriage is more of an ordeal for him than for me – at least I have nothing to do

but obey the will of my father and king!” (279). As the High Queen,

Gwenhwyfar is the symbol of womanhood and also of her husband. Later in the

novel, Morgaine’s stepdaughter-in-law asks for news of the court, such as “Has

the Queen yet shown any signs of bearing him an heir?” (574) and more

tellingly, “What of the Queen? What did she wear when she sat at court?” (575).

Even the clothes Gwenhwyfar wears is a symbol unto themselves, charged with

political significance, for the dress she wore at court was “something of white,

with pearls – the Marhaus, the great Irish knight, brought them to her from the

Irish king” (575). Indeed, Gwenhwyfar looks the part on the day she marries

Arthur and becomes the High Queen, for Igraine notes that “(the) young woman

looked like an angel when she was clothed; her fine hair floated like spun gold

in the sunlight, almost dimming the radiance of the golden garland she had put

on. Her dress was of a white woven stuff, as fine as spiderweb… and was more

costly than gold” (276).

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Gwenhwyfar’s appearance moves the Merlin to comment to Igraine: “How

beautiful she is! Arthur has found himself a treasure. I have heard that she is

clever, too, and learned, and also that she is pious, which will please the bishop”

(278).

Yet Gwenhwyfar’s piety, once perceived as an advantage to placate the

Church, is revealed to be fanatical. Her barrenness leaves her upset and she

turns to religion in hope of a successful delivery. However, it is suggested that

Gwenhwyfar’s miscarriages are her own fault, as she insists on staying in the

fortified Caerleon instead of moving to Camelot with the other ladies because of

her reluctance to travel. As a result, she is cooped up in a small room with her

serving women, without fresh air, fresh food, nor exercise, resulting in her

miscarriage. Although she recognises that these were the reasons, Gwenhwyfar

prefers to believe the house priest when he asks her: “Is there any unconfessed

sin on your conscience?” (391). As a result, she pushes Arthur to give up the

Pendragon banner, symbol of the Tribes and Avalon, in favour of the standard

of the Virgin, by telling him that God took away their son because Arthur

“(had) not yet resolved to make this a Christian land” (393). Although a banner

may not be an article of clothing, it is woven, sewn, and embroidered, just like a

gown. It is also the fruits of Gwenwhyfar’s labour during her boring months in

Caerleon and is as representative of Gwenhwyfar as the white and gold colours

that characterise her, for she prayed as she wove it to completion.

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Ironically, despite the banner being the standard of the Virgin and sewn by a

woman, Arthur’s choice to replace the Pendragon flag with it represents the

triumph of the patriarchy – perpetrated by a woman.

Gwenhwyfar’s relationship with Morgaine is complicated, for as the

latter’s fosterling, Nimue (Ni-mew), muses “If Gwenhwyfar were not so

fanatically, mindlessly Christian, she would have loved Morgaine well” (788).

Gwenhwyfar respects Morgaine for her independence, but at the same time,

Morgaine’s independence angers her: “Why should Morgaine please herself?

No other woman was allowed to do her own will” (375). Indeed, as a priestess

of Avalon and the King’s sister, Morgaine has more freedom than the rest of her

counterparts. But again, once she enters Britain, even Morgaine has to conform

to the social norms. The blue crescent tattooed between her brows is testament

to her faith on Avalon, but in Britain, it marks her as a barbarian or a sorceress –

an outsider to the Christian social order. When she attends Arthur’s crowning,

Vivienne advises her to replace the blue robes and deerskin overtunic of an

Avalon priestess with “a simple dress of black wool, with linen underdress in

white, and a white veil over her braided hair” (208). Since Morgaine’s

childhood, she is characterised by her choice of dark and plain robes which lend

her an air of severity and seriousness – in contrast to the British young maidens

that “went with their unbound and wore dresses dyed in bright colours” (208).

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She is often harsh on other women, seeing them as fools, claiming they make

her feel “idle, stagnant, (and) useless” (281). Morgaine’s self-induced state of

exclusion results in loneliness and suffering, because as her aunt Morgause tells

her, “Whatever she is thought by men, a woman must depend on the goodwill of

other women” (708). However, women like Morgaine, Morgause, and Vivienne

are all rendered outsiders because of their refusal to conform to the expected

subservient role of a woman in Arthurian society. Despite their outsider status,

their self-awareness resonates with feminist thought where the woman is the

construct of a patriarchal society because there is no universal category of

women to which the signifier “Woman” refers (Homer 102), as these women

are kingmakers and rulers of their lands.

The lesson came too late, for Morgaine, in spite of knowing of the love

affair between Lancelet and Gwenhwyfar, tricks the former into marrying

Elaine in an attempt to stop the gossip at court. Gwenhwyfar’s revenge takes the

form of convincing Arthur to marry Morgaine off to King Uriens, an old man.

Arthur, unknowingly, gifts his sister with fine and costly jewellery so that she

can please Uriens by being “finely dressed as befitted a queen” although

Morgaine feels more like a “child’s doll” (566).

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Morgaine considers herself an equal to men , for she sees herself as a prisoner

rather than a queen, thinking: “Some kings kill their prisoners of state, or

enslave them in their mines; if it pleases the King of North Wales to hang his

with jewels and parade her forth at his side and call her queen, why not?” (570).

Instead of resigning herself to marriage with an old man she does not love,

Morgaine decides that she will not let herself be used for Arthur’s politics.

Upon committing herself to the decision to protect the Goddess from the

onslaught of Christianity, she renews her vow to the Goddess. Morgaine does

not repaint the crescent on her brow, hidden under her housewifely coif – not so

much because her husband may question it, but because she feels that she is not

yet worthy to bear it (589). What Morgaine does instead is to ornament herself

with the little sickle knife she took from Vivienne’s murdered body,

symbolising her acceptance of the work that Vivienne let fall. Yet in spite of the

Ladies of Avalon’s attempts to save the Goddess from oblivion, their best plans

all end in tragedy.

Throughout the novel, there is only one woman who does whatever she

deems to be in her best interest – the lady Morgause, the youngest of Vivienne’s

sisters. She marries King Lot of Lothian and rules by his side as his equal. After

her husband’s death, Morgause rules Lothian by herself, taking men she finds

attractive to her bed while her sons serve Arthur as knights.

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Her self-assurance is reflected in the clothes that she wears, for instead of being

dressed up like a doll in expensive gowns and jewellery, Morgause wears these

extravagant clothes and jewels with natural ease, even painting her face to hide

her age. She does so not to please her consort, nor because it is her duty, but

because she enjoys the power that her good looks give her over men.

Ultimately, Morgause’s position as the ruler of Lothian allows her to escape the

restrictive sphere that constitutes the life of an average woman in Arthur’s

court, as she can distance herself from her gender and assume the masculine

universal “I” for she tells Gwenhwyfar at a banquet “I am happy to sit for once

among ladies and gossip about who is married and who has taken a paramour

and all the new fashions in gowns and ribbons! I am kept so busy in Lothian

with the ruling of the land that I have small time for women’s matters” (606).

At the end of the novel, despite Bradley’s attempt to reassure the reader

that the Goddess still exists and that Christian convents have assumed the place

of the priestesses of Avalon in caring for the Goddess, now presented as Saint

Brigid, the patriarchal social order has triumphed. Avalon fades into the mists,

the end of a feminist utopia where comfort is prized above fashion, and

education involves more than spinning and weaving.