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Helen M. Winslow’s novel is a political fiction that foregrounds the question of women’s civic leadership at a time when female suffrage was still fresh in the American imagination. The book opens with a persuasive essay that links women’s traditional role as household keepers to the broader responsibilities of municipal governance, citing contemporary examples of women mayors in the United States and England. From that premise the narrative moves to a bustling luncheon of the Progressive Workers club, where the women of Roma debate whether to nominate one of their own, Gertrude Van Deusen, for mayor. The dialogue is dense with the concerns of a small Mid‑western town: corrupt candidates, apathetic male officials, and the urgency of reforming schools, poor‑houses, and public morals. The plot is set in motion by the women’s determination to translate their “housekeeping instinct” into political action, positioning the story as a direct commentary on early‑20th‑century reform movements.
The prose reflects the earnest, didactic tone of Progressive‑era literature, with long sentences that weave moral argument into character interaction. Winslow’s style is conversational yet formal, echoing the speeches and pamphlets of the period while maintaining a narrative drive through spirited debate. Readers who enjoy early feminist drama, historical political intrigue, or novels that explore the social reforms of the 1900s will find this work engaging. It offers a glimpse into the strategies and rhetoric of women activists before they gained widespread electoral power, making it a rewarding read for those interested in the intersection of gender and municipal politics.
The opening · free to read
"Chimerical!" the average man will exclaim when he reads the title of this book.
"But why not?" his wife will answer.
"Worth trying," the reformers and philanthropists will add.
"One of us," the suffragette will conclude.
And there may be a grain of truth in every answer. But the idea is not absolutely new. At this writing, there is a woman-mayor in one of the smaller cities of the middle states in America; while over in England there are, I believe, two women doing good work in the municipal chair.
And again, "Why not?" Housekeeping is a woman's business. It is the primeval instinct at the bottom of every woman's heart. The average American and English home is a clean, sweet, sanitary and well-governed institution,--made and kept so by some woman. God made women to be wives, mothers and home-makers; and if our modern conditions have sent some of us out into the world to earn our own living and perhaps to support somebody else, the instinct remains--as witness the thousands of tiny flats or cottages where these women dwell and maintain a home, "be it ever so humble." And so, if we are the natural housekeepers, the conservators of health and morals and civic pride, why not a woman at the head of municipal affairs?
The suffragette, the reformer, the philanthropist, the average wife are right, too. As for the average man--let him read the story of Roma's woman-mayor and think it over. And if he does not decide to vote for a woman as mayor, perhaps he will come to see that woman's housekeeping instinct and newly awakened civic sense, added to a revival of public honesty among men, might well combine to make a model city.
If "it is not good for man to live alone," perhaps it is not well for him to manage his City Hall alone. After all, is it "chimerical?"
H. M. W. Cambridge, Mass. May, 1909.
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"Well, why shouldn't we change it?" asked Mrs. Bateman, as she scooped out the grape-fruit that formed the first course at the P. W.'s regular monthly luncheon.
"Change it? Change what?--How?" asked several voices at once.
"The state of affairs in this city," pursued Mrs. Bateman calmly. "I have been thinking things over since I got home this fall. Everybody agrees that our little city is going to the dogs; that municipal affairs were never so muddled as now. And now, here is Barnaby Burke running for mayor, with a ravenous pack of demagogues behind him."
"Yes, and not a decent man to run against him," added Cornelia Jewett.
"I don't see why," began the fluffy little woman in light blue, "I don't see why no genuine, honest, upright gentleman will allow his name to be used. Rudolph says it has got so that nobody but a politician will consent to be mayor of Roma."
"They're all afraid of the demagogues," put in another. "There's Albert Turner; he ought to stand as a candidate. But I suppose he wouldn't?" She turned to a large fair lady across the table who was placidly consuming her soup.
"My husband isn't interested in politics," was the reply. "His business affairs are too pressing."
"That's the trouble with most of the men," commented another. "They are too much absorbed in their own affairs to care much what happens to the community. We need a little more of the socialistic spirit."
"Oh, dreadful!" muttered another. "We shall be preaching anarchy next."
"And Granville Mason--or Geoffrey Bateman," added the fluffy lady in blue.
"My husband said last night that politics had sunk to such a pass in this town that no decent man would touch the City Hall with a pair of tongs," said Mrs. Mason. "That's the answer he gave a couple of men who came from Headquarters to ask him to stand. And he said that whatever decent man accepted the nomination was sure to be defeated. He doesn't care to be the figure-head of Defeat."
"That's the way they all feel," said Gertrude Van Deusen. "I wish I were a man. I'd run for mayor! I wouldn't let the figure of Defeat worry me. I'd make a fight, I would, and we'd see if the demagogues had everything their own way."
"Why not run, then?" asked Mrs. Bateman, smiling across the table.
"I'd get every decent man roused up, for once," said Gertrude, enthusiastically, "I'd go into every ward and organize--as they do. I'd work among the poor, the illiterate, the unfortunate; and I'd rouse the rich and educated, too. That's the class that need awakening in this town."
"Then you're the right candidate," said Mrs. Bateman. "Why don't you take it? Really, now, why not?"
"O, Mrs. Bateman, I was only imagining a case." Miss Van Deusen was blushing and confused now. "Of course I couldn't run for office, not really."
"Why not?" asked the elder woman in the calm, judicial way which made her a leader among women. "Why not? The town is going to the dogs--or rather, to the demagogues. We need a complete revolution in Roma. We women have the vote in this state; why not take matters into our own hands? Why not have a woman for mayor?"
"O-o-oh!" gasped several of her hearers in the slight pause.
"Think of the field of activities that would open up before a good woman," she went on. "The condition of our paupers, of our children's institutions, of our schools. Think of the intemperance and the vagrancy and the immorality that flourish under our very noses. Yes, and the machine-politics that keep them flourishing. Oh, there is so much to be done, and our good men too busy, or--as they claim--too high-minded to meddle with it."
"Then what would, what could a decent woman do with it?" demanded Mrs. Jewett.
"Walk through it like an angel of light," answered Mrs. Bateman. "Ladies, we as the 'Progressive Workers' have labored ten years to effect reforms in this town, to further the interests of the schools, the poor, the dependent. What have we accomplished?"
"Why, why, a little," replied Mrs. Jewett. "Enough to have made our names respected and--yes, a little to be feared."
"But not enough," resumed Mrs. Bateman. "Not so much as we ought to have done. Not so much as we might have done had the City Council been with, instead of against us, or at best, merely tolerant of us. Now here is our opportunity. The lower element has put up a man, notoriously bad and unfit, to be mayor. The better side is all at sea. Our old mayor (weak enough, but infinitely better than Barnaby Burke) is ill with an incurable disease, and no one whose name inspires the least particle of confidence has been mentioned yet to take his place. Let us put up a good, whole-souled, fearless woman and get her elected."
"Impossible!" said Mrs. Jewett.
"We can do it," said the fluffy woman in blue. "My husband would help us; I know he would."
"But who?" asked Mrs. Mason. "Where could we find the woman?"
"Right here in our ranks," said Mrs. Bateman. "One of our own members. Gertrude, you're just the woman for us."
Miss Van Deusen did not answer. Only the quick flush showed how the possibilities of the moment found echo in the consternation at her heart.
"You are independent both by nature and by inheritance. You represent the best element of our citizens, you have means and time, you are bound by no family ties, and you have the kind of courage for the position," urged Mrs. Bateman.
"What will the men say?" reflected Mrs. Jewett.
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