Editorial

A street plan of the town where I live, drawn up in 1610, shows a jumble of dwellings, in a warren of streets and alleys with such names as “Well Street,” “Poultry Market,” and “Offal Lane.” One was known as “Mill Lane,” now called Mill Street, into which I have just moved. The people who lived here at the time of that map ran shops and small businesses which met the day-to-day needs of the community, much as they do today. I love being part of this little, intimate neighborhood. We are near to a river, which produced good fertile soil and enough transport links to be going on with. Down the road was an orchard, whose barn was bought by a Dissenting church, as soon as its minister got out of prison. This was a rebellious community in those days, before the eighteenthcentury social improvers and nineteenth-century moralists tidied things up. Those ordinary lives, and the footprints they have left in the townscape, are now shaping other ordinary lives. Just now, there’s a family walking along to the river, enjoying the weekend sunshine. The auction rooms opposite are just opening up, and the nightclub next door, in a disused church, was full of life until well into the small hours. I’m learning to live by the rhythms of these streets, and to listen out for the hidden voices, echoes of rebellion and dissent, of love and dancing, and quiet lament. This community will shape my life for a while, and I will become part of its shape for now, and the future. This issue of Feminist Theology represents an exercise in discerning the shapes left by hidden stories in the landscapes of myth and history, sacred writing and living experience. Sometimes, the forms concealed in the art and poetry of earlier ages emerge, like a stream that has long-run underground, to reshape another era. The power of patriarchy and colonialism to silence and repress cannot be underestimated, but neither can the persistence of radical dissent in courageous lives. The issue begins with a truly powerful and persistent myth, that of the Amazons. Olga Papamichali’s article spans the centuries from the rich mythological landscape of ancient Eurasia to her own research in film studies. The ancient story is evidenced in vase paintings, linguistic echoes including place names, and historical and other writings. The literary and artistic record is largely in the hands of the very conservative culture of classical Greece, which means that these warlike and powerful women are seen through the cultural lens of patriarchal misogyny. Whether the legend reflects the lives of real women or not—Papamichali is agnostic about this—they are depicted as the antithesis to the classical Greek ideal of womanhood: domestic, confined to the home, and certainly not militaristic. 1183906 FTH0010.1177/09667350231183906Feminist TheologyEditorial editorial2023