he book is often termed the famous “lesbian novel” ever written, or, at least, among the top three. And yet, the word “lesbian” does not appear even once. Such was the state of mind of the society in the early twentieth-century that not using a word to describe what everyone knew the word meant was a way for a creative artist to avoid pouring gasoline on a towering inferno. A metaphor was necessary to ascribe the acts without using the word that would fanned the flames of persecution:
“the sooner the world came to realize that fine brains very frequently went with inversion, the sooner it would have to withdraw its ban, and the sooner would cease this persecution. Persecution was always a hideous thing, breeding hideous thoughts — and such thoughts were dangerous.”