Despite elegy’s newfound aetiological and epicizing strains in Propertius 4, the book is a veritable chorus of female voices: Arethusa, Tarpeia, Acanthis and Cornelia join Cynthia (in her belated return) to articulate private sentiment and personal experience in the patriarchal world of which, dead or moribund, they are collatoral damage. This chapter explores how Propertius connects his female cast (which includes cameos also from the legendary Cassandra, a priestess of the Bona Dea, and Cleopatra) with the women of Virgil’s Aeneid, who likewise are evanescent (yet never silenced) victims. Chief among these heroines is the ‘elegiac’ Dido, her volubility in life and silence in the underworld refracted in the monologues of Arethusa, Tarpeia and Cynthia. Present too throughout the book are Dido’s Virgilian analogues (e.g., Camilla, Cleopatra and, perhaps, Helen), while the action of the Aeneid as a whole, from the sack of Troy to the Latin war and death of Turnus, are variously rewritten – by Propertius and Horos in opposing programmes, by Cynthia in the militia amoris of her last hurrah and by Cornelia, in whose ghostly allusion to the Danaids echo the final lines of the Aeneid.

Modern scholars have achieved consensus that Frances Burney was writing satire in her novels, acknowledging the range of Burney’s satiric targets and tones, and the merging and submerging of her satire with comedy, irony, melodrama, and sentimentalism. Yet Burney’s contemporary reviewers did not identify Burney as a satirist. In fairness, satire defies easy definition, and the status of satiric fiction when Burney was writing at the end of the eighteenth century was far less secure than at the beginning of the period. Furthermore, satire was gendered as male at the time; women were seen as the targets of satire, not its practitioners. So even when Burney’s reviewers and readers did recognize satiric elements in her work, she was seen as a sentimental novelist, a didactic novelist, a romantic novelist – as anything but a satirist. And Burney did not identify herself as a satirist either. In doing so, Burney was passing – hiding in plain sight as a satirist, defying the conventions of women writers and novelists of her time.

Frances Burney’s Camilla (1796), a novel in which a major character, Eugenia Tyrold, is not told that her physical appearance is perceived socially as deformity, considers the possibility that deformity is separable from its conventional social meanings. Camilla criticizes the inflated social currency of physical beauty and promotes moral beauty as deserving of higher value, while demonstrating that concepts of impairment, whether aesthetic or functional, shift in different contexts. The sophisticated deformity aesthetics in Burney’s novel anticipates the theoretical work concerning the relational aspects of disability that occurs in disability theory in the twentieth century (the disability/impairment distinction). Burney explores the ways in which deformities are aesthetic in certain social contexts and are functional in others. Her work demonstrates the importance of understanding how the other attributes of a person, for example, their gender and social class, affect whether bodily particularities are perceived as aesthetic or functional. Beauty, rather than normalcy, creates the problem of the deformed body; but neither beauty nor deformity are fixed ideas.

Chapter 2 reveals the frustrating and interminable process of revision for Frances Burney in a survey of all of her novels.Her first two novels, Evelina (1778) and Cecilia (1782), reveal that she submitted to the actual and perceived criticisms of family and friends in ways that diminished her initial innovative aims, including the deletion of a scene containing satanic rites in her Cecilia manuscript.Burney’s last two novels evince a reversal in her revision practices and display her later-in-life tendencies toward verbal excess.Her post-publication revisions to Camilla (1796) show her inability to moderate repetitive characterization and Gothicize her text in the case of the tantalizingly unfinished third edition.As with her changes to later editions of Camilla, Burney’s planned revisions to The Wanderer (1814) were motivated by her dissatisfaction with negative reviews and her unwillingness to relinquish control of her novels.Her final revisions demonstrate her recognition of the never-ending potential of the early novel form.