“What do the Middle Ages have to do with me?” asked a student on the first day of my medieval literature class.
With a cognizant sigh and a slick smile, my professor replied, “A lot more than you think.”
I sat fidgeting in my swivel chair, trying to digest the professor’s response. What did medieval times have to do with any of us, especially the literature? Wasn’t it all just knights, kings, and queens? Medievalism seemed archaic and barbarous. I hoped that as a society we had moved on, grown, and progressed. The blatant sexist, racist, and oppressive nature of the material deterred me from ever wanting to fully immerse myself in it; it made me uncomfortable.
Then I stumbled upon The Book of Margery Kempe. Little did I know the true impact this would have on my life. The medieval mystic was once charged with heresy for preaching as a woman, a job reserved only for men. In the face of the archbishop she breathed courage and said, “I do not go into any pulpit… I use only conversation and good words, and that I will do while I live.” Uneducated and outspoken, she was extraordinary.
Much like Kempe, education was a pipe dream for me. I come from a humble background where school held no importance but being an obedient and docile young girl did. Reading about how complex and gender-subversive Kempe was resonated with me. The once closeted child in me only hoped I could be like her. She walked to the beat of her own drum and lived authentically. She fiercely spoke out against the hetero-theocratic-patriarchy, and for it she was deemed “crazy” and “hysterical,” as most opinionated women are. I saw the same condemnation she went through happen to the strongest and most intelligent women that I knew. (At that moment) I had to ask myself: was this really all that dissimilar from today’s society? The simple answer: it’s not.
I found myself captivated by these women and their world, studying them endlessly and conducting research that didn’t even count towards my final grade. For a brief moment I thought that maybe I was only interested in women of the Middle Ages. However, my niche interest expanded into a wildfire of intrigue that took over my every thought. I read stories from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales that challenged and mocked the rigidness of medieval society. I enjoyed the ridiculousness of fabliaux (tales), and giggled at the grotesque drawings in the margins depicting hilarious obscenities. I cheered when Sir Morien was reunited with his father and became the first black knight at King Arthur’s round table. I was proud of Silence when he fought off Nature and Nurture and finally embraced his transgender identity, and boy did I cry when Edward II heard that his lover Piers Gaveston had been murdered. I learned that people like me were not “new” or “unnatural.” They had always been there, just never highlighted. Medieval literature gave me the gift of remembrance, of people who laughed, cried, mourned, and took life one day at a time, just as we do.
The similarities between people of the Middle Ages and modern times cannot be ignored. That is not to say that atrocities of the past are excusable, but that’s also not to say that similar atrocities don’t happen today. We war and we love. We’re humans, that’s what we do, and in these modern Dark Ages, there is hope that we can learn from our past. The uncomfortable feeling that I had when I first read a story from The Canterbury Tales hasn’t gone away, but neither has the discomfort I have turning on the news. The difference is now these people don’t seem so far away; they’re tangible and personal. Concepts that may be considered “unknown” are not revolutionary. The margins have always existed, and our voices deserve to be uplifted.
I look back on how I used to view medieval literature, and I laugh, especially now that I’m pursuing a minor in medieval studies and applying to be in a medieval studies graduate program. I find myself having the same smile my professor had when people ask me, “Why would you study the Middle Ages?” I now know the original critique I had for medieval literature is a critique I have for oppression, a critique for those who told me I would never get an education, and a critique for those who silence marginalized voices. However, the past is always near, and so is progress. Progress that came from outspoken women like Margery Kempe, author of the first female autobiography. Valiant characters like Sir Morien, a black knight from King Arthur’s Round Table, and Silence, a trans man who lived unapologetically. They were the main characters. As a society we need to look to the past and read between the lines and analyze. It tells us that regardless of what the archaic modern commonwealth might want, we are not going anywhere.
