By Catherine T Wilson
This year I have been doing some volunteer social media work for the Historical Novel Society of Australasia, and as part of it, I was invited to interview Australian author Robyn Cadwallader on her medieval novel ‘The Anchoress.’ For those unfamiliar with the term, an anchoress is a female anchorite – that is, a person who chooses to live in religious seclusion for the rest of thier life.
As the HNSA understandably has a word restriction, and I tend to write way past word restrictions, I thought it might be fun to post the full interview for our next blog.
Interview with Robyn Cadwallader 
When the word ‘medieval’ is mentioned, immediately the image of a horse-riding, armoured knight springs to mind. Next comes a collection of jousting, sword-fighting, armies, war, sieges, and castle images and these all paint a pretty good picture of medieval times, but there are some aspects to this life that are not so well known.
It was a patriarchal society so, for women, the choices were simple—marriage, to produce the much-needed heir; or they could devote their life to God and become a nun, maybe even an abbess one day. There was one other way a woman could devote herself to God and that was to become an anchoress. That meant withdrawing completely from everyday life forever and being sealed in a stone cell measuring just seven paces by nine.
I could not even begin to imagine what that would be like or, at least, I couldn’t until I read Robyn Cadwallader’s book ‘The Anchoress.’ Robyn is one of our guests this year on the panel ‘I am a camera: exploring the nuance of point of view,’ a topic on which I cannot wait to hear her speak after being taken on such an enriching journey through the eyes of her anchoress character, Sarah.
Robyn Cadwallader has published a poetry collection, I painted unafraid (Wakefield, 2010) and a non-fiction book about virginity and female agency in the Middle Ages. Her first novel, The Anchoress, (Harper Collins) was published in 2015 and her second novel, Book of Colours, in 2018. Robyn is the reviews editor for the online literary journal, Verity La.
Robyn, thank you very much for participating at this year’s HNSA and for this interview.
Thanks for your interest, Cathy.
What inspired you to write a book about an anchoress?
I first came across mention of anchoresses when I was working on my PhD. I was both fascinated and appalled at the idea of a woman choosing to lock herself away for life, there to ‘suffer with Christ’, praying, reading and counselling the village women. I was so intrigued: Why would a woman make such a choice? And what would it be like, day after day, in that small cell? They were the questions that wouldn’t leave me alone, and after living with them for some years, I put pen to paper
The Anchoress opens with Sarah’s enclosure service where burial rites were read over her, closing her off from the world of the living, much the same as lepers of the time. However, unlike lepers, an anchoress was allowed contact with the villagers through a small window in her cell. Did the villagers view an anchoress as someone they could go to with problems? Apart from her regular visit from a priest for confession, were only women allowed to visit an anchoress?
An anchoress was very important for a village or town, and the people considered themselves blessed to have such a holy women in their midst, praying for them each day. The anchoress was allowed only contact with women (and her confessor, as you mention) who came to her for counsel. Because the anchoress was ‘dead to the world’ she was forbidden to look out her window, which was covered with a curtain. However, the ‘Ancrene Wisse’ (Guide for Anchoresses) also warned that she was not to gossip, not to buy and sell, not to function as if her cell was the village post office — and the fact that those kinds of things were mentioned suggests that they did happen in some places. After all, her cell was attached to the church, which was the very centre of the village and its communal life, and the anchoress would always be there.
If she was allowed these visitors, how did she balance the concept of being shut off from the world against being allowed regular visitors and giving advice?
Well, I imagine it varied from woman to woman, and there is certainly a paradox in the rule that she shut off the world, but also engage with it by counselling the women who came to her. In my novel, Sarah initially doesn’t want visitors because she is determined to remain alone with Christ and her prayers. She also feels herself incapable of giving advice, because she is only seventeen. But as the women come with their daily concerns, their worries about crops and food, their exhaustion from working in the fields, as well as their joys and pleasures, Sarah is forced to rethink her role. And even more significantly, she discovers that the women have much to offer to her; she discovers that her prayers and her piety cannot be separated from the material world around her.
Some of your descriptions of Sarah in her cell, all alone, are compelling, and at times almost horrific as her imagination works overtime with the knowledge that the previous anchoress is also buried in there. It’s not only what Sarah feels, but what we know must really be happening. How did you prepare yourself for writing Sarah’s character? Did you do anything to experience her isolation?
When I was beginning to research the anchoritic life seriously, I travelled to England and visited some of the few cells that remain. It was very confronting to see how tiny some were — even smaller than seven paces by nine. At Kings Lynn I sat in a cell that has been renovated and is used as a chapel. There was a baptism service occurring at the time, and because the cell was so close to the front of the church, the priest told us (me, my partner and kids) we would have to stay in the cell for twenty minutes. He locked the door. The lights were on and I knew we would soon be leaving, but as I sat there, I wondered what it would be like never to leave, never to see another person. That was when Sarah began to come to life for me.
Ironically, my study has two walls of windows that look out onto the garden, so I went into the cell inside my mind. I imagined: every stone, the dirt floor, the thick curtains, every step and every touch. Writing each day, dwelling in Sarah’s head and heart, I felt the impact of claustrophobia and darkness. It was only when I had finished the novel that I realised how tough it had been to stay there in the narrow darkness. As for the scenes with the previous anchoress and Sarah’s experiences of the horror — I’ve discovered that I have a capacity for writing madness!
What was your research method for The Anchoress? Did you face any challenges?
Academics and archaeologists are currently doing some wonderful work on the anchoritic life, but the details of individual anchoresses are very limited. At first, I panicked that I didn’t know enough and couldn’t find out enough to write a novel. I read many academic articles in history and literary theory, that gave me ways to begin to think about a woman living within such patriarchy.
As I’ve mentioned, I visited anchorholds, read the various Rules of Life written for anchoresses and any available account of what their lives would have been like. Ultimately, I had to infer and imagine. For example, there are no details of what an anchoress used for a toilet (a question that interests lots of people, it seems!), or for lighting and heating, so I wrote what seemed to me to be most likely. After worrying a great deal about ‘getting it right’, eventually I realised that we will possibly never know all the details and accepted that my version, thoroughly researched and considered, was a valid one.
Beyond that, I researched village life: the cycle of the seasons and crops, customs, festivals, church and manor house. And the daily workings of a priory, something I had never imagined I would investigate.
Many authors can pinpoint where a character took over the telling of the story. Did your characters take control at any time?
Yes, there was a surprising and wonderful moment with Sarah. I don’t plan my novels more than having a general sense of the shape of the story. So, about two-thirds of the way into the story, Sarah needed to confess a sin to her confessor; this was more significant than most of her other sins, so she would have to admit her failure and accept his censure. However, as I wrote, it all changed. Her confessor was angry and made that clear to her, telling Sarah how badly she had failed. But Sarah became defensive and angry at his words, and he in turn reacted; the argument escalated until Sarah, in her fury, broke one of her most serious rules, pulled aside the curtain and faced her confessor.
I sat back, amazed. That wasn’t what I had imagined but it was absolutely how the scene needed to be written. It was so exciting! I discovered more about Sarah, and in turn the rest of the story was changed.
You have since written ‘Book of Colours,’ a story of the commissioning of a medieval manuscript, a book of Hours and the struggles threatening its completion. Of your two novels, which was more fun to write?
Oh, that’s a difficult question. I don’t think The Anchoress was fun. It was hard work, frustrating, enormously challenging, and I was full of doubt every day. But it was a story I really wanted to explore, and writing was the way to do it. So I think I’d use words like ‘satisfying’ and ‘fulfilling’ — and enormously surprising when I found an agent and a publisher.
Book of Colours was more fun but just as much hard work because I knew very little about illuminated manuscripts or medieval London and its politics. But, after writing about the interior of a stone cell, I wanted to spread my arms out, move through the streets, explore different characters — I wanted colour and movement. That was fun. And I especially enjoyed writing the gargoyle, who just turned his head to look at me, climbed down from the cathedral and was determined to have a part in the story. I love those quirky things that happen with writing.
I also had fun writing the excerpts from ’The Art of Illumination’, a guide to illumination that one of the characters is writing. I’ve been surprised and delighted that many people have asked me for details of the book I took those excerpts from so that they could buy it. And I can tell them, ‘Well, I made it all up!’ A writer’s dream.
I hear a third novel is in the works. What plans do you have for researching this one? Would you care to give us a hint of its subject?
I’m working on a third novel set in the late thirteenth century. It’s loosely linked, via a psalter that has been burned, with my first two novels. It’s about belonging, loss, faith and prejudice — the little questions!
I’m off to the UK on the day after the conference finishes to do some more research and fieldwork, along with a six-week residency at Gladstone’s Library, a residential library in northern Wales. Hooray!
What sort of books do you like to read? Can you name any favourite authors?
I like to read widely, and I don’t seek out historical fiction especially. I love writers who pay attention to language and sentence, and those who take risks in their writing. A few names: Eimear McBride, Barbara Kingsolver, Colm Toibin, Hilary Mantel, Kate Atkinson, Lucy Treloar, Virginia Woolf. And poets: ee cummings, William Blake, Gerard Manly Hopkins. There are lots more, but usually when I’m asked, I can’t think of them!
From your own experience, if you were to offer one piece of advice on writing—from creativity to getting published—what would it be?
Back yourself. From my experience, letting self doubt control me stopped me taking my writing seriously for years. I think you need to be prepared to play, experiment, work hard, and then back yourself in whatever you’re writing. Doubt keeps us humble but it can also stop us in our tracks.
Robyn, you will appear on the panel ‘I am a camera – exploring the nuance of point of view.’ Apart from this, which session are you most looking forward to seeing in HNSA at this year’s conference?
I’m looking forward to ‘The Thing We Don’t Know: research across eras’ for obvious reasons; maybe I can pick up a few hints.
I’m also intrigued to hear what panellists say about parallel timelines in ‘Intertwining Lives Revealed: the mystery of parallel timelines’. Why use them? How do they help?
That’s wonderful advice! Thank you so much for your great answers, Robyn, and good luck with your research and residency! That sounds very exciting indeed.
Click on the books to buy The Anchoress or Book of Colours
Volunteer’s By-line
Catherine T Wilson co-writes with Catherine A Wilson (no relation). Their first book, The Lily and the Lion, was based upon their true-life accidental meeting and resulting friendship. All four books in their ‘Lions and Lilies’ series have won first place prizes in the Chatelaine/Chaucer Awards in the US and last year, The Traitor’s Noose won the Grand Prize Chaucer Award.
The Lily and the Lion – 1st Place Chanticleer Chatelaine Award – 2014
The Order of the Lily – 1st Place Chanticleer Chatelaine Award – 2015
The Gilded Crown – 1st Place Chanticleer Chaucer Award – 2017
The Traitor’s Noose – Grand Prize WINNER Chanticleer Chaucer Award – 2018
Post Script:
I was so moved when reading this book that in dedication, (and as our own beloved Cecile and Gillet had hit a rough patch in the forthcoming ‘Roar of the Lion’), I decided she should visit an anchoress.
So, here now, is the first glimpse at a scene from ‘Roar of the Lion.’
Church of Saint Maria, Montréal-du-Gers
Cécile trod softly down the aisle of the church, then stopped to glance warily behind her. She was comforted to see Armand still standing just outside the entrance, holding the reins to both Panache and Ruby as he chatted to the gardener. Their hour-long journey to the village of Montréal-du-Gers had not met with her cousin’s approval, but since she was determined to come, he had given in and accompanied her. Ever since learning the church of Saint Maria housed an anchoress, Cécile had been eager to make the journey. Now she stood only a few feet away from the chamber containing the holy woman’s curtained window, wondering if her decision had been the right one.
She was unsure why it mattered to gain the opinion of a woman who’d chosen to entomb herself in a small church cell for the rest of her life in order to dedicate herself to God through prayer—but it did. Perhaps it was closest she could ever get to God, or perhaps she just felt more comfortable telling her troubles to another woman. Cécile perched on the edge of a pew to contemplate this and her next move. Armand had disagreed. He’d also added that if the anchoress was a virtuous maiden then her knowledge of marriage would be extremely limited and Cécile would find no comfort in the answers she sought.
‘You could just raid your needle basket and stick pins in yourself,’ he’d argued, ‘save us both a lot of trouble and a journey.’ But Cécile had been adamant, and now, as she sat in the church’s gloom, she wondered if Armand was right.
‘Are you here to see the anchoress, Milady?’ The voice came from behind her. Cécile turned to see a young maid, holding a bucket. ‘If you just wait a moment,’ she held up the container, ‘I’ll be right back and will take you to her parlour.’ Straightening her shoulders with a determined air, Cécile nodded.
Lions and Lilies 