Surprisingly, one of the most common questions I’ve gotten is, “Is Myrtle’s hairstyle historically accurate?” That is, would a girl of 1890s England have worn her hair cropped short like that? And the answer is a bit more complicated than you might expect.

I first saw this late 19th century photograph soon after finishing the first draft of Premeditated Myrtle, and it was like seeing my heroine staring back at me through the ages! This girl, with her straight-cut fringe (bangs) and her bold expression exactly matched my image of Myrtle.

When cover artist Brett Helquist began work on Premeditated Myrtle, he asked for reference images, and I sent him the above photograph. You can see he took strong inspiration from it—but the stiff updos we typically associate with Victorian hair don’t add much drama to a dust jacket meant to entice readers to pick a book up and open its cover.

An early draft of the Premeditated Myrtle cover

But as you can see, Myrtle’s shorter, flyaway hair brings a lot of energy and movement to the covers–perfectly capturing her spirited determination!

We associate long hair with the Victorian era for good reason: it was common, among both girls and women.

This studious girl, who reminds me of Myrtle’s friend Caroline Munjal, sports a very typical girl’s hairstyle of the ages: worn long and styled half up/half down, with a hint of curly fringe.

But common doesn’t mean universal. In Europe and the US throughout the 19th century, we see girls and women wearing their hair much shorter, and they did so for a variety of reasons—including fashion.

(Read more about Victorian shopping trends and the power of 19th century advertising.)

I am enchanted by this 1887 French fashion plate, showing a girl Myrtle’s age with quite short hair. Photographs of real girls with short hair are one thing (they might have cut off their hair after an illness or injury, as long, heavy hair is hot and uncomfortable in a sickbed), but this robust girl is selling high style to the Parisian market. Tres chic!

Short hair enjoyed a few brief periods of popularity throughout the 1800s. At the turn of the 19th century, French fashion embraced neoclassical styles (influenced by ancient Greece and Rome), including a hairstyle called the “Titus—” for men and women.

Guillaume Lethiere: Girl with Portfolio, c. 1800

Only those of means would have their portraits painted, so again consider this a style of the very fashionable, those young women embracing the cutting edge of new and trendy looks. (Like girls today!) But fashion isn’t just for the young, as this lady of a certain age with her very dramatic Titus proves:

These hairstyles were also influenced by the postwar era following the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror, and are often believed to have been worn in solidarity for victims of the Guillotine. Author Shannon Selin has a fascinating article about the origins of the Coiffure a la Titus here.  Note the comments from contemporary naysayers “concerned” about girls’ and women’s health.

Interestingly, war also inspired another era of short hairstyles for girls and women. In the 1860s, the “shingle” cut became a popular style in America.

American abolitionist (and mountaineer!) Anna Elizabeth Dickinson sported short hair for most of her life, as evidenced by her many photographs.

The style is sometimes believed to be just a Confederate one, adopted by white girls in solidarity with their brothers at the front lines. But contemporary sources prove that wasn’t the case. The shingle was popular all across America. In 1868, Louisa May Alcott capitalized on the trend when she had Little Women’s Jo March cut off her hair. In the book, Jo’s motivation is financial—she sells her shorn locks—but she swiftly comes to appreciate the way her newly short hair feels:

“I will confess, though, I felt queer when I saw the dear old hair laid out on the table, and felt only the short, rough ends on my head. It almost seemed as if I’d an arm or a leg off. …(but) a crop is so comfortable I don’t think I shall ever have a mane again.” —Little Women

Frank T. Merrill’s 1896 illustrations for Little Women reflect 1890s fashions in hair.

This younger girl looks less convinced about her shorter ‘do. (I recognize the expression from the first time I had my own curly hair chopped off at age 6!)

By Myrtle’s day, however, long hair was once again in vogue—and would remain so until the (postwar!) “bob” craze of the late 1910s and ’20s. But that doesn’t mean every girl or woman wore her hair long.

Florida, c. 1890

date unknown, probably 1880-1890

Hungary, 1880s

If anything, this variety of hairstyles reminds us that as the 19th century marched on, girls and young women were increasingly aware of current events and influenced by marketing, as well as making more and more decisions for themselves about how they looked and dressed… and, by extension, how they wanted their own lives to look. Myrtle’s hair might not come up as a topic on the page, but it’s a terrific reflection of her independent and modern spirit.

My friend Erin made this awesome graphic, which I have shamelessly stolen for this post. Thanks, Erin! (And be sure to check out the amazing books by my fellow nominees.)

This year the awards ceremony was all virtual, and they are mailing us the awards, ceramic busts of Edgar Allan Poe:

Godspeed, Eddie(s)

I am incredibly grateful to MWA, and especially the (still top-secret) judging committee for Best Juvenile Mystery, fellow children’s mystery authors. Chair Bruce Hale (Edgar-nominee for his Chet Gecko series) presented the award:

Ooooh, that red envelope!!

You can watch the full awards ceremony here, neatly edited down to the presentations and acceptance speeches. (Best Juvenile is about the 17:30 minute mark. I was relieved it was early on in the program—I don’t think I could have stood the suspense otherwise!)

Yeah. Somebody’s sharing the spotlight…

Everyone has been so excited by the news! (See excited co-host of my acceptance speech, above.) To mark the occasion, I invested in a small (literally) token.

Miniature raven and book of poems. How apropos…

And being gloriously on theme…

My publisher sent Gilded Slipper lilies… THEY ARE BIGGER THAN MY HEAD. (Have no fear: they are safely locked in a cat-free room. But the whole house smells amazing!)

And my agent sent peonies for Peony!

We are still riding high from Edgars excitement, and plans are afoot to bedeck the entire house (and apparently your Learned Author) in Poe regalia. (Poe paper dolls, Poe quilt fabric, Poe stickers, Raven buttons, Poe socks… Ahem.) I think this calls for a Cask of Amontillado and a viewing of one of my favorite Edgar Award-winning films, Call Northside 777. 

Jimmy Stewart stars in a great true crime story solved by journalists using state of the art forensic techniques. Highly recommended!

Huge, huge, huge thanks to the Edgar Awards committee and crew, especially Margery Flax and Kathy Daneman, who kept us all organized, publicized, and informed the last three months and pulled off a massive feat with grace and aplomb. The Oscars of Mystery Writing is no small undertaking, even without the added challenges presented by a pandemic, but they made it seem almost easy. And thank you again to the judges! Cookies for everyone.

When the cookie cutter gets here.

The industrial and colonial expansion of the 19th century meant new goods—and cheaper goods—were coming to England all the time, from all over the world. Shoppers were no longer limited by what was grown close to home: railways and advances in food preservation meant that products could be shipped much longer distances, arriving safe and sound at your local market.

Leadenhall Market sold fresh food (sometimes very fresh indeed) to Londoners. (1845, Illustrated London News)

Leadenhall Market in 2006 (By Diliff) This historic area might look familiar: it played Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter films.

This merchant in Deptford advertises their “Colonial Merchandise,” imported fruits, pickles, sauces, tea, and coffee—all grown overseas and imported for the English market

In addition to large open-air and covered markets popular in cities, there were smaller shops selling everything you’d buy today: chemists (pharmacies), ironmongers (hardware), haberdashers (sewing notions in the UK, men’s accessories in the US), along with those that carried clothing, furniture, toys, chocolate, tobacco, reading material, or all of the above.

Shops sold practical and fashionable footwear…

Fresh fruits and veg…

Prepared food (recognize a familiar name?)…

And housewares.

New department stores catered to the middle-class with posh decor and helpful staff:

London department store Harrod’s was founded in the 1820s, and swiftly expanded. At one time it was the largest retail store in the world. This is their perfume “counter,” around 1900.

This circa 1900 Lady of Quality doing her household marketing can choose from dozens of different products at her local shop.

Hembold’s Drug Store, New York, 1880s. Does your corner Walgreen’s look like this?

One of the items you might pop into Hembold’s to pick up

Middle-class shoppers were bombarded with advertisements for every product under the sun. Learn more about 19th century advertising hoopla here. 

Of course, the convenience and variety were only one side of the story. Consumerism had (and has) environmental, economic, and social consequences. Some middle-class Victorian Britons recognized this, and began to push for changes to labor laws and more consumer protection. Read more here: The Fashion For Shopping at Historic England.

The eponymous store from The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens (C. Green 1872).

But the cult of convenient and entertaining shopping was here to stay. Our Victorian ancestors would hardly be surprised by modern mega-stores and online shopping.

Sears, Roebuck, & Co. offered catalogues full of everything American shoppers needed to fill their homes, including the homes themselves. (1897)

Wherever you do your shopping, Cold-Blooded Myrtle will be here October 5, and is available for pre-order now!

Arthur Langley Vernon, Elegant Ladies Tending to the Garden, 1873

Wealthy English people had enjoyed ornamental gardens for centuries, but it wasn’t until the Industrial Revolution ushered in more income and leisure time for the middle classes that ordinary folks could afford to devote valuable crop-growing land to purely decorative plants. Gardening in the 19th century meant big business, career opportunities, and a popular middle-class pastime—particularly for Young Ladies of Quality.

An 1830s guide to apiculture for women notes the Victorian values exemplified by bees: “laborious, industrious, patient, ingenious, skilful — incessantly engaged in the nurture of the young; in collecting honey and pollen; in elaborating wax …”

Girls and women had of course been engaged in agriculture since the dawn of time, but gardening appealed especially to 19th century middle-class aspirations and virtues—the idea of owning and managing your own patch of land, importing exotic plants from colonial lands overseas, embracing healthful fresh air and industrious effort.

This French fashion plate shows practical gardening togs for a girl Myrtle’s age (La Mode Illustree, 1887) You may be seeing this image again…

Gardening was often included in school curricula for girls, teaching the skills and values of nurturing plants.

These kindergartners are getting an early botany lesson in a Washington, DC, school around 1899.

It also gave young women a socially-acceptable outlet for scientific curiosity.

American botanist Elizabeth Knight Britton (1858-1934) became one of the world’s foremost experts on moss.

English botanical artist Marianne North travelled the globe to document the world’s plants in exquisite scientific detail. This painting could easily be a certain fantastical lily of Myrtle’s acquaintance. Learn more about North’s extraordinary career here. 

As the 19th century drew to a close, career opportunities in the garden began to open up for women, too.

Studley Horticulture College, founded in 1898, trained women for careers as professional gardeners, which had previously been considered too physically strenuous for delicate female constitutions. Studley was one of several women’s horticultural colleges that sprouted up during the 1890s and early 1900s.

Eleanor Morland, Gertude Cope, and Alice Hutchings, Kew gardeners, pictured in 1898, at England’s famous Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew.  Female gardeners wore brown bloomers, woollen stockings, waistcoats and caps, similar uniforms to their male colleagues.

Horticultural Colleges were aimed at middle-class young women, as the cost of tuition, equipment, boarding, and clothing would have been prohibitive to girls of lesser means. In contrast to more academic colleges, they trained women for physically demanding careers involving strenuous manual labor.

All these black and white photos do not do justice to the vivacity and exuberance of the real Victorian gardens—so I have some seed catalogues and other images to make up for that.

This American seed catalogue and magazine appeals directly to the Lady of Quality who will be whiling away her morning flipping through her garden plans (sort of an 1880s Pinterest?). Note her teagown—the outfit she’d be wearing for a leisurely morning at home.

This Canadian catalogue cover celebrates Queen Victoria’s Silver Jubilee (sixty years on the throne) in 1897

(Lawrence is just a hop, skip, and a jump west of me!)

Of course, you’ll need things to take care of all those beautiful plants, too.

19th century innovations in garden tool technology led to exuberant advertisements, like this helpful locust wielding the latest modern lawnmower (a labor saving device even for insects!)

And I have no idea what’s going on here, but these anthropomorphic vegetables were wildly popular among seed companies for a time!

And what would a Myrtle Mondays post be without a Victorian cyclist?

Happy gardening!

“Saint Monday, or the People’s Holiday”

In England throughout the 18th and early 19th centuries, the workday ran from Monday through Saturday. Your only day off was Sunday, and Saturday was payday. Sunday was therefore the day when people let their hair down. Observing “Saint Monday,” or taking Monday off after a weekend of merriment, became something of an unofficial tradition. Social reformers—and employers—sought to discourage this. But it took labor reform and the introduction of a standardized five-day work week to finally put an end to the holiday of Saint Monday. Read a little more about this practice here.

What would Easter be without rabbits and eggs? Well, I have some of those for you today, too!

Giant eggs seem to have been all the rage in the late 19th century. Did these kids just raid a dragon’s nest?!

I know they’re still working out the intricacies of aerodynamics, but I’m skeptical of eggshell as an ideal material for this task…

But wait! We’re not done with Vehicular Eggs yet!

You knew I couldn’t pass up the eggcycle!

And in fine #MyrtleMondays tradition, we have some Easter Monday-appropriate pets:

This picture is often identified as a young Beatrix Potter, but I can’t find confirmation of that. This looks circa 1900 to me, when Potter was a grown woman.

This, however, IS Beatrix Potter, along with the real-life Benjamin Bunny

And what discussion of Victorian rabbits would be complete without the most famous of them all?

The original Peter Rabbit plush toy, designed by Potter herself

You can learn more about the fascinating life of this Victorian scientist, artist, author, and entrepreneur here: PeterRabbit.com’s About Beatrix Potter page

This has nothing to do with Easter, but this little girl and her loyal steed are just magnificent.

If you are able to get out today and enjoy some time off, more power to you! If not, you can stay at home with me and take an occasional chicken chariot break, too.