A number of questions form the backdrop to Katherine French's new book: Did the fourteenth-century decline in England's population provide unparalleled opportunities both at work and at home for women to create new identities for themselves, so that it can be claimed that women after the Black Death enjoyed a “golden age”? If yes, then how far did such freedoms intensify misogynistic strains already endemic within English society? Did “the good women of the parish” themselves recognize and internalize currents circulating among the spiritual elites of Europe whereby women gained stature through their association with newly feminized forms of piety? This is the stage on which French examines just how rich and varied might be a laywoman's experience of religious life within her parish.

In her first two chapters French looks at the ways in which the skills and occupation any woman might be expected to exercise at home could readily be transferred from the secular to the sacred sphere: women washed and mended the clothes of their husbands and children and likewise those of the saints whose statues adorned their churches. They baked bread for their households and for use at Mass, they kept bees whose wax was essential for the many candles any church would need, and when they died they were likely to leave their parish valuable items of clothing and jewelry. Boundaries between home and church were permeable; care of the one was reflected in the care taken of the other. Priestly control of certain sacraments was less than absolute, essential neither for baptism nor for marriage, and in any case such occasions, even when celebrated in church, were remembered quite as much by the festivities that the women helped provide as by the liturgical moment. Later in her book (in chap. 6) French gives a hint as to how the emphasis of late medieval spirituality of Christ's human nature could be construed as valorizing such bustling hospitality—thus the Virgin, according to John Mirk, author of the influential Festial, was not only a model of the contemplative life; she was also “the first Martha” (187).

In the middle section of The Good Women French considers the collective activity of women within the parish. It was expected (even demanded) that the level of women's attendance at church would be greater than men's since men had to tend flocks and work in fields more frequently than did women. Nonetheless, women's presence in church was not considered an unproblematic good. Women allegedly gossiped, flirted, showed off their clothes, and quarreled about where to sit. Seating (something of a novelty in the fifteenth century) was in any case strictly gendered. The diverse reasons given for such arrangements give an indication of medieval ambivalence about women's natures. Generally, women were expected to sit (or stand) on the north side of the chancel, either because both north and women were “dark, damp and demonic” (94) or because the north of the chancel was a space associated with the Virgin, since most churches had a chapel dedicated to her in their north aisles.

Seating arrangements might create rivalries (who had the right to the best seats?), but they could also promote female solidarity. A striking development of the fifteenth century—apparently unparalleled elsewhere in Europe—was the formation of all-women's groups (composed either of “maidens” or of “wives”), which served a variety of purposes. Some raised funds for building projects and in support of the poor. Others contributed to liturgical feasts by providing candles and garlands; others organized events such as dances or plays. Money was usually raised by collection, but more enterprising groups might sell wool or cakes or rent out brewing equipment.

Closely associated with all-women groups was the rise of the celebration of Hocktide. This festival, which began with women capturing men and tying them up until a forfeit had been paid, has often been seen as an example of a festival of misrule that worked to strengthen rather than to undermine patriarchal culture since it ended with the women themselves being caught and bound. French, while not entirely disagreeing with this interpretation, urges her readers to think beyond it and to consider ways in which organizing such an event might have given leadership roles to women and the ways in which it could have strengthened yet further the solidarity among all-women groups.

Hocktide did not survive the Reformation. Its implications, suggests French, were disturbing: “It allowed communities … to imagine a parish run only by housewives” (179). The idea was far from fanciful—stained-glass windows depicted women performing the seven acts of mercy in ways that suggest that these were seen as regular household forms of piety. But this too was alarming: what if caring for the stranger became an opportunity for sin? The evidence of Episcopal visitations suggests that such fears were generally misplaced. Nonetheless, the reformers were to take no chances. “The imposition of the Reformation,” concludes French, “redefined appropriate religious behaviour for women. It was still predicated on household tasks and concerns, but it was no longer as collective, visible, and active” (230).

French's book contains a wealth of interesting detail, much of it culled from those churchwardens’ accounts that had begun to be kept in the fourteenth century. Women themselves might act as churchwardens, but as French makes abundantly clear throughout her book, such a role was only one among many that women in the late English medieval parish might exercise. French may not wish to argue that the Reformation was “bad” for women, but she does make it clear that thereafter women had to learn—the phrase is hers—a quite new “vocabulary of piety.”