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Article

Jericho’s Daughters: Feminist Historiography and Class Resistance in Pip Williams’ The Bookbinder of Jericho

by
Irina Rabinovich
English Language Department, School of Multidisciplinary Studies, Holon Institute of Technology, Holon 5810201, Israel
Humanities 2025, 14(7), 138; https://doi.org/10.3390/h14070138
Submission received: 13 May 2025 / Revised: 27 June 2025 / Accepted: 30 June 2025 / Published: 2 July 2025
(This article belongs to the Section Cultural Studies & Critical Theory in the Humanities)

Abstract

This article examines the intersecting forces of gender, class, and education in early twentieth-century Britain through a feminist reading of Pip Williams’ historical novel The Bookbinder of Jericho. Centering on the fictional character Peggy Jones—a working-class young woman employed in the Oxford University Press bindery—the study explores how women’s intellectual ambitions were constrained by economic hardship, institutional gatekeeping, and patriarchal social norms. By integrating close literary analysis with historical research on women bookbinders, educational reform, and the impact of World War I, the paper reveals how the novel functions as both a narrative of personal development and a broader critique of systemic exclusion. Drawing on the genre of the female Bildungsroman, the article argues that Peggy’s journey—from bindery worker to aspiring scholar—mirrors the real struggles of working-class women who sought education and recognition in a male-dominated society. It also highlights the significance of female solidarity, especially among those who served as volunteers, caregivers, and community organizers during wartime. Through the symbolic geography of Oxford and its working-class district of Jericho, the novel foregrounds the spatial and social divides that shaped women’s lives and labor. Ultimately, this study shows how The Bookbinder of Jericho offers not only a fictional portrait of one woman’s aspirations but also a feminist intervention that recovers and reinterprets the overlooked histories of British women workers. The novel becomes a literary space for reclaiming agency, articulating resistance, and criticizing the gendered boundaries of knowledge, work, and belonging.

1. Introduction

The overlapping dynamics of gender, class, and education shaped women’s lives in early twentieth-century Britain. Amid a rapidly industrializing society and the upheavals of war, women—especially those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds—encountered numerous obstacles in their pursuit of recognition, autonomy, and educational opportunity. This paper examines the world of English female bookbinders between 1900 and 1920 through an interdisciplinary feminist lens, focusing on the intersecting dynamics of class, gender, and institutional exclusion. Rather than treating history and fiction as separate or merely parallel modes of representation, this study adopts an integrative approach in which Pip Williams’ The Bookbinder of Jericho functions as both a literary text and a historiographical intervention. The novel is read not simply for its historical setting but as a narrative framework that reimagines and reanimates the lived experiences of working-class women, particularly those whose voices have been marginalized or omitted from official records. This way, fiction becomes a critical site for historical interpretation, enabling a deeper understanding of how gender, class, and institutional exclusion shaped women’s lives in early twentieth-century England.
This study draws on Sara Ahmed’s assertion that “living a feminist life” entails not only critiquing institutional norms but also actively reshaping everyday experience through acts of refusal, solidarity, and ethical becoming (Ahmed 2017, p. 14). Peggy’s life, though constrained by class and gender, embodies these small acts of feminist resistance—from salvaging printed scraps to educating herself and caring for others. Her story raises important questions about whether feminist life is utopian, ironic, or persistently unfinished. This ambiguity is central to the novel’s feminist historiography: The Bookbinder of Jericho resists triumphant closure and instead foregrounds the difficult, ongoing work of sustaining hope and dissent within systems designed to exclude.
Peggy Jones’s journey in The Bookbinder of Jericho dramatizes the collision of female ambition with institutional and societal limits. Multiple systemic barriers stymie her journey: her working-class origins, the social stigma of illegitimacy, and the absence of formal educational qualifications. “I have a scholar mind, Gwen,” she confesses to her upper-class friend, “but for a bindery girl it is a character flaw, a hazard” (Williams 2023, p. 275). Through Peggy’s story, Williams dramatizes the gendered politics of labor, literacy, and self-determination. Her longing for knowledge is both a source of personal empowerment and social transgression—one that renders her aspirations suspect in a world where bookbinders are expected to bind books, not read them. This conflict exemplifies the central tension in the novel: the friction between women’s intellectual capacities and the societal roles to which they are relegated. Simultaneously, the novel foregrounds female solidarity, illustrating how women from different backgrounds—bindery workers, Somerville students, refugee volunteers—formed vital communities of support and resistance in times of war and social upheaval.
To explore these themes, the paper draws upon both historical sources and literary theory, blending close textual analysis with archival context. Feminist theorists such as bell hooks (on class and education), Audre Lorde (2007) (on difference and voice), Susan Leonardi (on textuality and women’s lives), and Sara Ahmed (on affect and institutional dynamics) construct a framework for interrogating how women’s agency, voice, and ambition are constrained or enabled within patriarchal systems. Historical sources from Tidcombe, Booth, Frost, Batson, and others illuminate the lived conditions of women workers, particularly in the male-dominated printing and bookbinding trades. This dual approach reveals how The Bookbinder of Jericho constructs a layered critique of social inequality while also recuperating the intellectual and emotional lives of marginalized women. Peggy’s efforts to expand her informal education—through salvaged pages, shared books with her mother, and midnight reading—are examined in light of broader structural exclusions that shaped those who could claim a “life of the mind.”
This study employs a methodological approach that reads fiction not only as a cultural artifact but as a historiographical intervention. Rather than treating historical novels as secondary or illustrative texts, the analysis embraces Pip Williams’ narrative as a legitimate site of knowledge-making, one that reconstructs erased or marginalized histories of working-class women. Drawing on feminist historiography and literary theory, this approach privileges subjectivity, affect, and narrative agency as tools for historical recovery. In doing so, the novel becomes not just a story about the past but a critical framework for interrogating structures of exclusion, representation, and voice. Fiction here is treated not merely as imaginative embellishment but as a counter-archive—a form that compensates for the omissions of historical record by staging affective truths, intimate labor, and marginalized voices that history often elides.
The novel’s symbolic use of setting—especially the Oxford deprived district of Jericho—highlights the spatial dimension of inequality. Jericho, depicted as a working-class enclave adjacent to the elite university “Gown” world, becomes a microcosm of the broader class and gender divides that structure Peggy’s life. Her physical and psychological journey from the bindery floor to the university library parallels the difficult path toward educational inclusion and intellectual freedom. Somerville College becomes a site of both longing and exclusion: a beacon of women’s intellectual advancement and a reminder of the institutional barriers that persist for those without class privilege. Through Williams’ portrayal of spaces—factories, libraries, lecture halls, and bedrooms—The Bookbinder of Jericho charts the embodied geography of aspiration and exclusion.
This article argues that Williams’ novel is not simply a historical backdrop but a narrative intervention that complicates and enriches our understanding of the intersections of labor, literacy, and gender. In positioning the novel as a primary interpretive framework, the paper brings together historical, literary, and feminist strands into a cohesive analysis of how women’s stories—often erased from dominant historical narratives—can be reanimated through fiction. Ultimately, this study offers a multidimensional account of the bookbinding women of Oxford, shedding light on their contributions, sacrifices, and enduring struggle for education, equity, and social justice.
Williams’ novel uses fiction as a tool of feminist historiography, reconstructing lives lost to archival silence. Its fictionality enables Williams to fill in the silences of the historical record, animating the emotional and intellectual lives of working-class women whose experiences were rarely documented. This way, the novel acts as what Hayden White terms a “verbal artifact”—a narrative structure that imposes meaning and coherence on the chaos of the past (White 1978, p. 42). Yet, this narrative coherence also presents certain limitations. The genre’s emotional accessibility and linear character development risk idealizing resilience or downplaying the intractability of structural oppression. Fiction may grant Peggy the satisfying arc of a feminist Bildungsroman, but it also smooths the uneven and often invisible labor of real historical figures. Thus, while the novel offers important historiographic possibilities—particularly in feminist recovery work—it must also be read critically for the ways it organizes, aestheticizes, or simplifies historical complexity in service of narrative form.
Section 1 of this paper serves as the general introduction and theoretical framing. The following six sections develop the argument in depth. Section 2 provides a historical account of English female bookbinders’ labor conditions between 1900 and 1920. Section 3 explores the symbolic and institutional exclusions of Somerville College as a site where class, gender, and education intersect. Section 4 situates Peggy’s journey within the genre of the female Bildungsroman, emphasizing its feminist inflection. Section 5 considers the political and emotional power of female friendship networks and caregiving during World War I. Section 6 concludes the paper by synthesizing these perspectives and highlighting the novel’s value as feminist literary historiography.

2. The World of English Female Bookbinders (1900–1920)

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, gender roles were deeply entrenched in society, with women largely relegated to domestic duties and lower-paying, less prestigious jobs. The bookbinding industry was no exception, reflecting broader societal attitudes toward gender and work. Women entering the workforce faced significant challenges and discrimination based on their gender, often being referred to as “‘female labor,’ and often as ‘unfair female labor’” as they were paid low rates (Tidcombe 1996, p. 65)1. Women performed physically demanding tasks such as folding, fastening, and covering sheets of paper, enduring lengthy hours of work and constant supervision (The Bookbinder 1890, p. 106). Traditionally, manual labor and skilled trades were regarded as the domain of men, while women were expected to prioritize family responsibilities and domestic tasks (Tidcombe 1996, p. 65). This mindset often resulted in women being paid lower wages than men for the same work, as seen in the bookbinding industry where female binders comprised sixty percent of the labor force yet were paid considerably less (Booth 1903, n.p.). Moreover, there was a prevailing belief that women were inherently less capable than men, leading to their exclusion from certain professions or their relegation to less skilled positions within those professions. In bookbinding, while boys received formal training to become skilled binders, girls were often assigned menial tasks and given limited opportunities for advancement, being paid very low wages (Tidcombe 1996, pp. 70–71).
The gender dynamics within the bookbinding industry were further influenced by the attitudes and actions of male-dominated unions. These unions, established to protect the interests of their members, often excluded or marginalized women, viewing them as threats to their established positions within the industry (Tidcombe 1996, p. 65). This exclusion from union membership meant that female binders lacked the collective bargaining power necessary to advocate effectively for their rights and interests. In this context, gender inequality was not just a matter of unequal pay or limited opportunities; it was also deeply embedded in the structures and practices of the industry. Women faced systemic discrimination and barriers to advancement, both from employers and from male colleagues within the industry. Despite these challenges, women in the bookbinding profession demonstrated resilience and agency in their efforts to improve their circumstances. Some formed their own associations or advocacy groups to address issues of pay equity and working conditions, challenging the prevailing gender norms, and advocating for greater inclusion and recognition within the industry.
Peggy’s identity as a bindery worker is shaped by class stigma, limited access to education, and social marginalization. Nevertheless, despite the challenging conditions, Peggy rarely complains about the poor working environment, which includes dim lighting and inadequate space. However, her sense of humiliation is palpable when she attempts to steal a moment to glance inside the folded pages and read a line or two, only to be sharply reprimanded by Mrs. Hogg, her stern supervisor. Mrs. Hogg’s admonishments, such as “your job is to bind books, not read them,” underscore the strict expectations imposed on Peggy and her colleagues (Williams 2023, p. 3). Flint’s insights into Victorian societal attitudes toward women’s education further illuminate this irony. While reading was considered a means for women to extend their knowledge and potentially become more suitable marital companions, it was also viewed with suspicion and deemed inappropriate for women to pursue intellectual ambitions (Flint 1993, p. 11). Mrs. Hogg’s rebuke of Peggy for daring to read accentuates this tension between societal expectations and individual aspirations, revealing how deeply ingrained patriarchal attitudes can manifest, even in seemingly mundane interactions between women in the workplace. When Peggy’s mother spoke about Calliope (the muse of poetry), Mrs. Hogg cynically remarked that reading Homer does not make Helen Jones, Peggy’s mother, and a simple binder, “better than the rest of us” (Williams 2023, p. 259).
Moreover, despite their dedication and hard work, female binders like Peggy faced not only the physical demands of their job but also the indignity of societal prejudices and discriminatory treatment from their supervisors (Williams 2023, p. 3). Mrs. Hogg’s disdainful remark, “It won’t do to have the spine creased […] Not by the likes of you, Miss Jones,” carries a deeper insult, suggesting that Peggy’s familial background was somehow inferior (Williams 2023, p. 4). By emphasizing Peggy’s surname, Mrs. Hogg not only belittles Peggy’s skills but also, through her tone and emphasis on Peggy’s surname, appears to insinuate—rather than explicitly state—that Peggy’s mother may have been unmarried. Because of her illegitimate birth, Peggy faces formidable social and educational barriers, leaving her with few viable pathways for upward mobility.2
In The Bookbinder of Jericho, we witness a stark dichotomy between women such as Peggy, hailing from working-class backgrounds, and their struggles within the bookbinding trade, and those from middle-class families who found avenues for expression and success within artistic bookbinding circles. The emergence of the Arts and Crafts Movement during this era provided a crucial platform for women from diverse socioeconomic backgrounds to engage in bookbinding and other crafts. While Peggy and her peers often found themselves relegated to menial tasks and confronted with systemic discrimination, women from more privileged backgrounds had access to organizations like The Guild of Women-Binders. Founded by Frank Karslake, this Guild defied the utilitarian norms of the early 20th century, offering a space where women could elevate bookbinding to an art form. Karslake’s inspiration stemmed from the exquisite bindings displayed at the Victorian Era Exhibition, motivating him to harness the talents of female binders for commercial gain (Anstruther 1902, p. 1). Although Frank Karslake founded the Guild primarily as a commercial enterprise—seeking to profit from the novelty of women’s craftsmanship rather than to promote gender equality—it nonetheless became an unintended platform for female creative agency in a traditionally male-dominated trade. Its legacy complicates Karslake’s original intent, illustrating how even commercially motivated ventures can generate lasting feminist impact (Anstruther 1902, p. 1).
The Guild’s contributions to decorative bookbinding endure as a testament to the lasting impact of women artisans in the field (Anstruther 1902, p. 5). The downfall of the Guild serves as a poignant reminder that women from both working-class backgrounds, like Peggy, and middle-class artistic circles faced formidable challenges due to systemic gender discrimination, underscoring the pervasive nature of these obstacles across different socioeconomic strata within the bookbinding industry.

3. Oxford’s Somerville College: Pioneering Women’s Education and a Bastion of Elitism

The novel explores the symbolic divide between “Town” and “Gown” through Peggy’s longing to cross Oxford’s institutional boundaries. Peggy Jones emerges as the daughter of an unwed mother whose romantic liaison with an Oxford professor shapes Peggy’s social identity within the confines of Oxford’s Jericho. In this delineation, the professor assumes the titular mantle of “a Gown,” demarcating a sociocultural distinction from denizens of the neighborhood, colloquially branded as “a Town.” This juxtaposition underlines the socioeconomic schism that pervades Oxford’s social fabric. Peggy’s mother, ensconced in the laborious vocation of bookbinding at the Clarendon Press, harbors a profound admiration for the Greek classics, which serves as a thematic counterpoint to her liaison with the “Gown” lover. Despite the allure of his erudition, Peggy recounts how his [her father’s] rhetoric, albeit enchanting, proves to be ultimately vacuous and, at times, deleterious. Peggy recalls, “He was full of words that turned my [her mother’s] head […] but most turned out to be meaningless and others became very cruel” (Williams 2023, p. 195). She also reflects on her mother’s struggle with the challenges of unexpected twin pregnancies—herself and her autistic sister, Maude—setting her on a difficult path as a single parent. Gifted with natural talent and a deep hunger for learning, Peggy dreams of pursuing higher education at Somerville College, a prominent institution for women’s education in Britain.
Peggy immerses herself in hundreds of books spanning Shakespearean works, classics, poetry, and salvaged volumes from the Press, often flawed due to folding defects. Building upon her mother’s modest efforts to establish a home library, Peggy diligently expands their collection over time. Together, they amass not only complete volumes but also a trove of salvaged chapters and miscellaneous scraps from the Press. These seemingly insignificant fragments, though initially dismissed as redundant, hold immense value for Peggy and her mother, reflecting their shared commitment to knowledge and literature. This circumstance starkly illuminates the socioeconomic disparities that hindered the educational opportunities of talented women from marginalized backgrounds like Peggy’s.
Situated chronologically after the University of London’s groundbreaking decision in 1868 to admit female students, Somerville College embodies Peggy’s aspirations for intellectual fulfillment and sociocultural mobility.3 Peggy has been walking past Somerville all her life, “imagining what it was like for the women on the other side of the wall” (Williams 2023, p. 123). When she receives an invitation in 1915 to voluntary assist with serving drinks at a welcoming event for Belgian refugees, organized by the Oxford War Refugees’ Committee at the college, Peggy bitterly remarks that now, while at college, she is “a little bit of Jericho littering an Oxford quad” (Williams 2023, p. 123). This poignant observation stands in stark contrast to her profound reverence for books. Amid the hustle of the Committee’s gathering, she seizes a stolen moment and clandestinely slips into Somerville’s library. Here, her admiration for books, both as tangible testaments to craftsmanship and as reservoirs of knowledge, is palpable. “It’s evident, isn’t it? I harbor a deep affection for books, for every facet of their being,” (Williams 2023, p. 316) she muses, her gaze drifting toward the towering shelf. “And I cherish their imperfections just as fervently; for within the pages of every tome lies the essence of its era, its milieu, and the individuals tethered to its narrative” (Williams 2023, p. 316). According to Peggy, every book, akin to a person, possesses its own character molded by the folds, the handling, and the locations where readers ventured within its pages. Every book also boasts its unique binding, contributing to its individual character (Williams 2023, p. 316).
Somerville College stands as a paradox—at once a beacon of women’s intellectual potential and a gatekeeper of social privilege. Founded in 1879 and named after the pioneering scientist Mary Somerville, the college symbolized the growing movement for women’s access to higher education. Yet for working-class women like Peggy Jones, the path to academic recognition remained largely blocked. Despite her evident intellect and passion for learning, Peggy’s circumstances—an illegitimate birth, financial hardship, and the responsibility of caring for her autistic sister—prevented her from pursuing formal schooling. Somerville, with its reputation for nurturing female scholars, represented a world just beyond her reach: close enough to glimpse but structurally fortified against those without the means, pedigree, or credentials to cross its threshold. In this way, the college reflects the broader contradictions of early feminist progress, celebrating inclusion while quietly maintaining exclusion. Living beside the college but long denied entry, her journey reflects the spatial and social barriers faced by working-class women. The novel’s final scene, in which Peggy walks past the Somerville wall as an accepted student, offers not triumph but a quiet, earned belonging—an emblem of feminist persistence amid structural inequality.
Peggy, born to an unwed mother in Jericho’s working-class “Town,” exemplifies the challenges faced by women excluded from elite academic spaces like Somerville and the University of London. Despite a teacher’s advocacy for her to attend Oxford High School, Peggy’s familial responsibilities—especially caring for her autistic twin sister, Maude—prevented her from pursuing formal education. Her intellectual promise, however, remained intact, nurtured by a relentless appetite for reading. The proximity between “Town” and “Gown” underscores the irony of her situation: she lives steps away from Oxford’s academic world but remains barred from full participation due to entrenched social and gendered hierarchies. Even with self-acquired academic fluency, she encounters systemic barriers—well before the disruptions of the Belgian invasion, World War I, and the Spanish flu—that define the steep path women of the laboring class faced in their quest for knowledge.
Persistent stereotypes about women’s intellectual and physical capacities impeded access to higher education in early 20th-century Britain. Although women gained the right to vote in 1918, true equality was not achieved until 1928. The University of London had taken a pioneering step in 1868 by admitting women to sit for examinations, yet they continued to face barriers to obtaining degrees for another decade, underscoring the deeply entrenched gender biases of the period (Carter 2018, n.p.). Somerville College postponed the granting of full membership and the awarding of academic degrees to women until 1920. Considerable discourse revolved around the perceived fragility of women’s mental and physical faculties.4 According to Rowold, England in the 1870s, 1880s, and 1880s experienced increased concerns and “anxieties about the female body’s potential to degenerate” (Rowold 2010, p. 206). Nevertheless, the underlying apprehension primarily centered on the potential ramifications of higher education on a woman’s societal role. There existed a genuine concern that engaging in rigorous academic pursuits could diminish a woman’s appeal as a suitable partner for men, potentially compromising her perceived suitability for marriage and motherhood. Often, female academics faced stereotypical portrayals as dowdy, socially awkward, and unattractive. Such portrayals often depicted them as unsuitable for marriage, labeling them as either asexual or lesbian. These stereotypes were not only propagated by men but also ridiculed by other women, contributing to entrenched gender biases. Hence, there lingered apprehensions that exposure to advanced education might erode a woman’s inclination to engage in meaningful relationships with men altogether. Susan J. Leonardi posits a subconscious male unease, suggesting a latent fear that the granting of traditionally male opportunities to women could render men redundant in certain societal spheres. She maintains that “with their education,” women “absorbed the sense of danger and confusion along with the conviction of their competence and strength” (Leonardi 1989, p. 2). Women persisted as perceived threats within the university environment several decades after they were admitted to Somerville.5
Trailblazing women like Emily Penrose helped reshape the academic landscape, yet persistent inequalities remained. Serving as principal of Somerville College from 1907 to 1926, Penrose played a crucial role in advancing women’s right to receive Oxford degrees. She fought hard, breaking down barriers and opening doors for women in higher education. Finally, in 1920, women were granted academic degrees, marking a major step forward for Somerville College and for women’s education overall.6 Under the decision, the authority to confer degrees extended to former students as well. Consequently, 300 alumnae of Somerville, who had successfully completed the university’s examinations, were granted degrees. Notably, the first Oxford degree bestowed upon a woman was awarded to Emily Penrose, the principal of Somerville at the time. Nevertheless, Penrose could not grant female students permission to use the Somerville library. The focus of women’s resentment was the great libraries at the heart of the universities, which, no less than the colleges, historically barred their doors against women, although common sense suggests they should be open to the inquiring mind.
Oxford’s spatial and institutional landscape reinforced its gendered hierarchy, with colleges and libraries serving as both literal and symbolic barriers. Somerville College’s library, completed in 1903 and opened by university dignitaries the following year, marked a quiet assertion of women’s academic presence (Batson 2008, p. 80). In these early years, “women were quietly putting down roots,” striving for recognition in a male-dominated environment (Batson 2008, p. 32). When women achieved formal inclusion in 1910, a reader in the Times Women’s Supplement voiced cautious optimism: “Oxford has recognized she has daughters, and some day she will give to them… the right to bear her name and wear her gown” (Batson 2008, p. 151). This vision of academic equality echoes Vera Brittain’s 1960 defense of her history of Oxford women as a record of “the contest for the equal citizenship of the mind” (Batson 2008, p. xvi). Brittain’s cameo in The Bookbinder of Jericho adds a powerful layer of intertextual resonance; as a real-life Somerville graduate, writer, and pacifist whose Testament of Youth became emblematic of women’s wartime experience, her presence in the novel serves as both a historical anchor and a feminist symbol. Her brief interaction with Peggy subtly aligns the fictional protagonist with a broader tradition of women who challenged patriarchal norms through intellectual ambition and authorship. Brittain’s legacy reinforces the novel’s central themes of exclusion, perseverance, and the transformative power of education, affirming Peggy’s journey as part of a larger, collective struggle for women’s recognition within academic and public life. Batson’s portrayal of these early female scholars as “quiet rebels” (Batson 2008, p. 57) resonates throughout the novel, where Peggy’s determination mirrors that of Brittain’s and her peers—women who forged space for themselves within institutions that had long denied them access.
Feminist scholars caution against celebrating exceptional women without addressing the structural barriers that continue to marginalize the majority. While stories of individual triumph—like those of Penrose or Vera Brittain—deserve recognition, they can inadvertently uphold the myth of meritocracy. Focusing on a few who succeeded within the system may obscure the vast number of women denied access altogether. Thinkers like bell hooks and Audre Lorde have emphasized the significance of intersectionality in analyzing systems of oppression, pointing out how gender interweaves with race, class, and other social identities to influence women’s lived experiences (Hooks 1982, p. 3; Ahmed 2017, p. 200). Contemporary feminist critics like Sara Ahmed extend this critique, emphasizing that real change requires institutional transformation, not simply inclusion within existing frameworks. Thus, the feminist legacy of places like Somerville must be evaluated not only by who was allowed in but also by who was left out. These accounts challenge us to move beyond celebratory narratives of individual achievement and confront the structural barriers that continue to hinder women’s full participation and recognition in academia. By integrating these recent feminist perspectives into the broader discourse on women’s education, we gain a more nuanced understanding of the complexities and challenges inherent in the pursuit of gender equality within academic institutions.
The barriers Peggy faces at Somerville College—rooted in class, gender, and institutional exclusion—do not exist in isolation but shape her internal development and evolving self-conception. Her longing to belong in academic spaces, coupled with her marginalization from them, provides fertile ground for reading her story as a Bildungsroman. The physical walls of the college and the metaphorical boundaries of social status become narrative forces in Peggy’s coming-of-age. In this sense, place and institution are not merely backdrops but are integral to the genre of formation, influencing how Peggy constructs her identity in the face of exclusion.

4. Reimagining the Female Bildungsroman: Gender, Class, and Formation in The Bookbinder of Jericho

The Bildungsroman, or “novel of formation,” traditionally follows a protagonist’s psychological and moral growth from youth to maturity (Abrams 1981, p. 121), but feminist critics have shown that the female Bildungsroman complicates this arc by addressing barriers unique to women, particularly in relation to education, autonomy, and social norms (Abel et al. 1983, pp. 11–12; Lazzaro-Weis 1990, p. 25). The Bookbinder of Jericho offers a powerful example of this genre through Peggy Jones’s journey from working-class obscurity and illegitimacy in the “Town” to her struggle for recognition in the elite academic world, exemplified by her attempts to enter Somerville College. Her story highlights how gender, class, and limited educational access intersect to marginalize women, yet it also shows her resilience in the face of systemic barriers (Williams 2023, p. 198). Tracing both apprenticeship and awakening, Peggy’s path reflects key tensions in the female Bildungsroman—between domestic ties and personal ambition, autonomy and community, and loyalty to women versus attraction to men.
Mikhail Bakhtin’s concept of the Bildungsroman as a “realistic novel of emergence” emphasizes the protagonist’s development through engagement with the wider social and historical world (Bakhtin 1987, pp. 23–24). Peggy’s development is deeply enmeshed with the social realities of her time—a period of profound change and upheaval. Her transformation is not merely personal but reflects the broader struggles of modernity, including shifts in class mobility and gender roles. Franco Moretti similarly frames the Bildungsroman as a “symbolic form” of modernity, where youth becomes a marker of societal transformation (Moretti 1987, p. ix). Yet, as feminist critiques remind us, these markers were differently negotiated by women, whose developmental paths were constrained by limited access to public spheres and institutional education.
In The Bookbinder of Jericho, the setting of the bindery and the canal boat enclave is significant, symbolizing both the confinements and the possibilities available to Peggy. The bindery represents the domestic and artisanal world—traditionally feminine spaces linked to labor and craft—while the canal boat community serves as a liminal space between insularity and movement, tradition and modernity. This geographical and social milieu frames Peggy’s growth and highlights her defiance of prescribed roles. Abel et al. note how geographical and educational restrictions limit women’s options within the female Bildungsroman (Williams 2023, p. 6), and here, the canal boat’s transitory nature mirrors Peggy’s own liminal status between social classes and between girlhood and adulthood.
Peggy’s romantic and sexual relationship with Bastiaan adds layered complexity to her Bildungsroman arc, one that both mirrors and challenges traditional patterns in the genre. In the classical female Bildungsroman, romantic entanglements often function as either moral tests or narrative endpoints, with the heroine rewarded for chastity or punished for transgression. As Elizabeth Abel and her co-editors note, the genre historically “maps the limitations placed on female subjectivity by social constraints” and frequently pivots around a woman’s negotiation of love, sexuality, and social role (Abel et al. 1983, p. 12). In The Bookbinder of Jericho, however, Peggy’s experience resists clear moral coding: her sexual relationship with Bastiaan is neither idealized nor pathologized; instead, it is portrayed as emotionally ambivalent, exposing the contradictions between intimacy and independence.
Peggy’s desire does not mark a fall from virtue, but it complicates her sense of self. Her relationship with Bastiaan introduces feelings of abandonment, loss, and unmet expectations, especially when juxtaposed with her intellectual ambitions and familial duties. Bastiaan, a transient figure whose wartime identity renders him both emotionally unavailable and symbolically unstable, becomes a locus of both longing and disillusionment. While their sexual encounter signifies a break from propriety, it also initiates a deeper emotional reckoning: Peggy begins to understand that emotional intimacy can coexist with social inequality and power asymmetry, particularly across lines of gender and class.
From a feminist-critical perspective, this subplot both repeats and ruptures the genre’s conventions. As Carol Lazzaro-Weis argues, a female Bildungsroman often locates identity formation not in self-assertion alone but in the heroine’s capacity to navigate and eventually resist relational structures that confine her (Lazzaro-Weis 1990, p. 25). Peggy’s intimacy with Bastiaan could easily have followed a cautionary trajectory, but instead it becomes part of her affective education—a necessary but not defining episode in her journey. The novel thereby disrupts what Sharon Marcus identifies as the heterosexual imperative in Victorian fiction, where women’s relationships with men structure narrative value and closure (Marcus 2007, p. 41). In contrast, The Bookbinder of Jericho privileges Peggy’s emotional ties to women—her sister Maude, her neighbors, and her female peers at Somerville—as sources of sustenance and resilience.
Peggy’s decision not to prioritize or pursue a future with Bastiaan and, instead, to recommit to her education and caregiving responsibilities, marks a crucial moment of narrative deviation. As she tells him, “Of course with you, but I can’t be a wife and mother and a scholar as well. It just isn’t possible, and I can’t deny you those things that you want… The life you offer is too much” (Williams 2023, p. 402). Rather than being completed or “resolved” through romance, Peggy reasserts her autonomy. The emotional ambiguity of the relationship functions as a hinge: it deepens Peggy’s subjectivity but ultimately does not eclipse her intellectual development or solidarity with other women. This way, Williams both revises the Bildungsroman tradition and critiques the normative scripts around female sexuality, offering instead a model of womanhood grounded in ethical complexity, emotional honesty, and feminist refusal.
Throughout her Bildungsroman arc, Peggy confronts grief, class discrimination, and systemic marginalization with unwavering perseverance. Despite family obligations and social rejection, she refuses to abandon her pursuit of education and self-improvement. A telling moment occurs when Peggy offers to write a letter for a wounded officer, only to be relegated to a hospital for soldiers of “lowly” status, the officer recognizing her “accent or the state of my cuffs or my talk of work” (Williams 2023, p. 198). Though deeply offended, Peggy’s resolve remains unshaken. Her commitment to both helping others and advancing her own education exemplifies the resilience characteristic of the feminist coming-of-age narrative, which redefines growth through the lenses of domesticity, sisterhood, and delayed ambitions.
Peggy’s sacrifices—foregoing personal relationships, enduring societal scrutiny, and continuously navigating exclusion—illuminate the costs of female self-realization in a restrictive social order. Moretti suggests that the Bildungsroman’s evolution involves not only reconciling internal conflicts but also learning to coexist with them, using adversity as a tool for survival and growth (Moretti 1987, p. 10). Peggy embodies this shift as a “New woman” who, despite societal resistance, strives for education and independence. After failing her first entrance exam to Somerville College, she persists, balancing work at the bindery and caring for her sister, ultimately achieving acceptance. This perseverance highlights her ability to transform setbacks into opportunities for self-discovery.
Ultimately, Peggy’s journey stands as a multifaceted narrative of development, deeply informed by the intersections of class, gender, education, and place. Her story enriches the female Bildungsroman tradition by emphasizing the complex negotiations required of women who seek to redefine their social roles and claim agency within limiting structures. The novel’s blending of historical events with personal growth not only charts an individual’s emergence but also critiques the societal norms that constrain women’s paths to maturity and self-actualization.
While Peggy’s development as a protagonist unfolds through personal introspection and intellectual pursuit, it is equally shaped by the relationships she forges with other women. The Bildungsroman in The Bookbinder of Jericho departs from conventional, individualistic arcs by anchoring Peggy’s growth in collective experience and female solidarity. These friendships—nurtured in domestic spaces, the bindery, and wartime settings—offer alternative models of strength and resistance. As the narrative expands beyond Peggy’s private ambitions to encompass communal caregiving and wartime mobilization, the novel reveals how emotional bonds among women serve as political and personal lifelines. The next section examines these networks of support and the transformative role of female friendship during World War I.

5. Sisters in Solidarity: The Fortitude of Female Friendships Before and During World War I in Britain

Peggy’s journey is enriched by the companionship and friendships she forges with various women, reflecting a common theme in Bildungsroman novels. Peggy finds solace and support among her Jericho neighbors, her colleagues at the Press, and later, among a select group of female students at Somerville College. In the patriarchal and elitist society of turn-of-the-century Britain, these female bonds become crucial in empowering Peggy to pursue her dreams despite societal constraints. These friendships serve as pillars of strength, helping Peggy navigate feelings of estrangement and isolation on her path to autonomous selfhood. Whether through immersing herself in work or engaging in shared activities, such as giving tending to wounded soldiers or asking a neighbor to watch over her autistic sister, while she prepares for the entrance exams to College, Peggy finds sustenance in the camaraderie of her female friends. This deep understanding between equals forms the bedrock of her relationships, positioning them above heterosexual relationships in their significance to Peggy’s journey toward independence. In defiance of the societal norms prevalent in late Victorian times, Peggy and her companions cultivate warm and supportive relationships that challenge the notion of “hetero reality.” Janice Raymond delves into the significance of female friendships and communities in civilian life, highlighting how the prevailing belief that female interactions primarily serve to prepare women for relationships with men has resulted in the marginalization of women’s affection for each other. Moreover, Raymond argues that society dismisses the validity of these relationships, insisting that women’s existence revolves solely around men (Raymond 1986, p. 3). This perpetuates the misconception that female groups and friendships are incomplete without male presence. However, Raymond asserts that “hetero-reality” fails to recognize that women genuinely seek and enjoy each other’s company (Raymond 1986, p. 3). Moreover, given the hostility and biases they encountered, their friendships served as vital support systems in navigating these environments.
In Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England, Sharon Marcus elucidates the multifaceted nature of female friendship, highlighting its role in reinforcing gender roles while also providing women with opportunities for agency and self-expression (Marcus 2007, p. 45). Indeed, Peggy’s friendships transcend generational boundaries, as evidenced by the intimacy she shares with her female neighbors and the Oxford librarian, illustrating the enduring power of female bonds in shaping her narrative of growth and self-discovery. After being orphaned, Maude and Peggy are “adopted” by their neighbor Rosie and her elderly mother, Mrs. Rowentree. Rosie always invites them for tea: “holds up a pot of tea,” while her mother compliments Maude—“your smile is to chase a whole” (Williams 2023, p. 33). Tilda, a former friend of Peggy’s and Maude’s mother, occasionally brings food and “anecdotes to keep us [the sisters] laughing” (Williams 2023, p. 62). Rosie continues to offer support and care, especially to Maude.
During World War I in Britain, the bonds of sisterhood and friendship among women were profoundly shaped by the tumultuous events of the era. Notably, the influx of Belgian female refugees into England and Oxford added a poignant dimension to these relationships. These refugees arrived on British shores bearing the scars of war, having witnessed the devastation wrought by German forces in their homeland. Their cities lay in ruins, their men captured or killed, and their children subjected to unspeakable horrors. Despite the trauma they endured, these Belgian refugees found a welcoming embrace among local women, who extended not only accommodation but also empathy and solidarity. This demonstration of sisterhood transcended national boundaries, illustrating the universal language of compassion and support among women during times of crisis.7
The war itself placed women in unprecedented roles, particularly within the nursing profession. Women found themselves thrust into positions of extreme physical vulnerability as they tended to the wounded and dying on the front lines. This vulnerability was not without its toll, as many nurses experienced physical injuries, emotional strain, and profound loss. Yet, amid the chaos and hardship, female communities emerged as bastions of resilience and camaraderie. In her exploration of the psychology of sorority sisterhood, Lisa Handler contends that by perceiving their sisterhood as a unique manifestation of female camaraderie, sorority members distinguish themselves from women beyond their sorority circle (Handler 1995, p. 253). These networks of support provided much-needed solace and strength to women facing the harrowing realities of war. Through their shared experiences, women forged deep and enduring friendships that served as lifelines during times of crisis.
In times of adversity, especially during war, women found solace and strength in their relationships with one another. They did not just offer support; they built a foundation of understanding and nurturance that sustained them through tough times. Tilda often writes letters of encouragement, insisting that “the subtext, of course, is that I’m here if you need advice” (Williams 2023, p. 91). These bonds of sisterhood were not just about empathy; they were lifelines, providing both emotional sustenance and practical help when needed most. Facing daunting challenges such as financial struggles, unfair treatment in the workplace, societal gender biases, and the upheaval of war, women turned to their sisters for guidance and solidarity. Within the sanctuary of sisterhood, women found refuge from the storms of life. They shared their burdens, lifted each other up, and championed one another’s dreams. In a world that often overlooked their voices and discounted their worth, these relationships stood as beacons of empowerment.
In times of adversity—especially during war—women found solace and strength in their relationships with one another. These connections were more than gestures of support; they formed a foundation of understanding and nurturance that sustained them through even the harshest circumstances. Despite the difficult conditions she faced while serving as a nurse in the army, Tilda often writes, sending letters of encouragement and care. As she insists, “the subtext, of course, is that I’m here if you need advice” (Williams 2023, p. 91). Her consistent correspondence underscores how these bonds of sisterhood were not merely expressions of empathy—they were lifelines. They offered both emotional sustenance and practical assistance when it was needed most. Women facing daunting challenges—financial hardship, unjust treatment in the workplace, societal gender biases, and the upheaval of war—turned to one another for guidance and solidarity. Within the sanctuary of sisterhood, they found refuge from life’s storms. They shared burdens, lifted each other up, and championed one another’s aspirations. In a world that too often overlooked their voices and dismissed their worth, these enduring relationships stood as beacons of resilience, compassion, and empowerment.

6. Conclusions

The lives and labor of English female bookbinders between 1900 and 1920 illuminate the entwined dynamics of gender, class, and institutional exclusion that shaped working women’s realities in early 20th-century Britain. Through a feminist lens, this study has examined how fictional narratives like The Bookbinder of Jericho reflect and refract those lived experiences, offering insight into both the resilience and constraints that defined women’s paths toward autonomy and recognition. Peggy Jones, though a literary creation, serves as a powerful proxy for real women whose intellectual aspirations were often suppressed by poverty, illegitimacy, and gendered expectations. Her journey—rooted in grit, loss, and longing—mirrors a broader historical struggle for educational access, professional dignity, and social justice.
Rather than casting Peggy’s story as a solitary triumph, this analysis foregrounds her experience as representative of systemic inequity. Although she does not overcome all barriers, her story shows how education, reading, and solidarity among women can still create pathways for change. The symbolic space of Jericho, juxtaposed with the ivory towers of Oxford, highlights the geography of exclusion and aspiration that working-class women had to navigate, often alone, but occasionally in the company of allies. Crucially, the paper also highlights the collective strength of women’s networks—on factory floors, in refugee centers, and across generations of readers and writers. These friendships, often overlooked in masculinist histories, served as lifelines and sites of informal resistance. Women’s labor in bookbinding extended beyond the literal binding of volumes; it represented a form of social stitching, holding communities together through war, displacement, and silence.
As we revisit these narratives, whether historical or imagined, we are reminded that stories like Peggy’s are not just tales of individual fortitude but interventions in the historical record. They challenge us to question who is remembered, who is heard, and what counts as authorship, labor, and knowledge. By recovering and reinterpreting the roles of women bookbinders, we honor a lineage of cultural production and feminist perseverance that continues to shape our understanding of work, worth, and womanhood. Peggy’s voice, viewed through a feminist historiographical lens, represents not a mere echo of the past but a critical prompt to recover and amplify voices historically excluded from institutional memory. As Sara Ahmed reminds us, feminist living often begins “in the moments we refuse to reproduce” what has been expected of us (Ahmed 2017, p. 170). Peggy’s refusal to conform to romantic closure, class submission, or educational exclusion becomes a feminist practice of reimagining agency within constraint. Her story, like those of so many working-class women, foregrounds the unfinished nature of feminist historiography—a commitment not to neat resolution but to persistent disruption. In telling her story, the novel offers not only remembrance but also challenge, proposing new forms of feminist intimacy, historical reclamation, and collective transformation.

Funding

This research received no external funding.

Data Availability Statement

No new data were created or analyzed in this study. Data sharing is not applicable to this article.

Conflicts of Interest

The author declares no conflict of interest.

Notes

1
By 1901, folders and sewers were paid 14–15 shillings per week (Tidcombe 1996, p. 72).
2
According to Ginger Frost, “through the late Victorian period to World War II and even beyond, bastardy was a serious stigma legally, socially, and emotionally” (Frost 2003, p. 293). Illegitimate offspring posed a significant challenge to a society where conventional heterosexual monogamous marriage was upheld as the sole acceptable family structure. These children served as tangible evidence of sexual liaisons outside of this prescribed norm, thus undermining the idealized Victorian perceptions regarding women and family values.
3
4
On Trinity Sunday, 1884, Dean Burgon preached a sermon in New College Chapel that ended with a message for women “inferior to us God made you, and inferior to the end of time you will remain” (quoted in Leonardi 1989, p. 19). Charles Darwin himself had found “scientific” evidence of female inferiority. He contends that “It is generally admitted that with women the powers of intuition, of rapid perception, and perhaps of imitation, are more strongly marked than in man; but some, at least, of these faculties are characteristic of the lower races, and therefore of a past and lower state of civilization” (Darwin 2004, p. 629).
5
The notion is humorously exaggerated in Max Beerbohm’s novel Zuleika Dobson or, an Oxford love story (Beerbohm 1911). In the story, the mere presence of one alluring young woman triggers a comedic frenzy, leading the entire undergraduate population of Oxford to contemplate comically lemming-like acts of self-destruction.
6
“Celebrating 100 years of Degrees for Women.” 7 October 2020. https://www.some.ox.ac.uk/news/celebrating-100-years-of-degrees-for-women/ (accessed on 11 April 2025).
7
According to Christophe Declercq, the number of Belgians in Britain for the period 1914–19 is estimated to be between 250,000 and 265,000 (Declercq 2020, p. 75).

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Rabinovich, I. Jericho’s Daughters: Feminist Historiography and Class Resistance in Pip Williams’ The Bookbinder of Jericho. Humanities 2025, 14, 138. https://doi.org/10.3390/h14070138

AMA Style

Rabinovich I. Jericho’s Daughters: Feminist Historiography and Class Resistance in Pip Williams’ The Bookbinder of Jericho. Humanities. 2025; 14(7):138. https://doi.org/10.3390/h14070138

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Rabinovich, Irina. 2025. "Jericho’s Daughters: Feminist Historiography and Class Resistance in Pip Williams’ The Bookbinder of Jericho" Humanities 14, no. 7: 138. https://doi.org/10.3390/h14070138

APA Style

Rabinovich, I. (2025). Jericho’s Daughters: Feminist Historiography and Class Resistance in Pip Williams’ The Bookbinder of Jericho. Humanities, 14(7), 138. https://doi.org/10.3390/h14070138

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