The Brothel of Pompeii

184 PHOENIX mostly repurposed from older publications. Alternatives exist, including excellent digital platforms such as SITAR, directed by M. Serlorenzi.4 In general, this series has not been known for its theoretical advances, but there is valuable material for future inquiries of that type, including on the durability of republican ideas or on the ability of architecture and monumental space to encode history. Others will think of other paths forward. If this book caps off an epoch-making series, we now look forward to carrying its results into the next epoch of the study of ancient Rome. University of Toronto Seth Bernard The Brothel of Pompeii: Sex, Class, and Gender at the Margins of Roman Society. By Sarah Levin-Richardson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2019. Pp. xiii, 243, 66 figs., 10 plates. This new monograph is an exciting addition to the growing field of prostitution studies in the Greco-Roman world. While scholarship on the ancient sex industry frequently includes the brothel of Pompeii, no previous study offers an integrative and comprehensive approach that situates the structure in the community and provides a glimpse of life in an ancient brothel in all its complexity. Since the identification of the first floor as a brothel is accepted among scholars, Levin-Richardson can focus on advancing our knowledge of the activities and interactions engaged in through a careful analysis of the architecture, decoration, material finds, and graffiti. The material culture is rich, but so is the author’s methodology. By applying gender, feminist, spatial, visual, comparative, and literary theories, she convincingly concludes that the brothel at Pompeii offered a “sexual experience” that included peeping, drinking, joking, role play, and fostered regular interactions between prostitutes and their clients. Drawing upon sex workers’ own descriptions of their occupation today, she approaches the ancient workers as simultaneously “exploited victim” and “agential subject,” a useful lens for thinking about “marginal” groups in Roman society more broadly.1 The book is divided into eight chapters grouped into two sections: Chapters One to Four (Part I) each cover a different category of evidence and Chapters Six to Eight (Part II) each focus on a category of user. The upper floor of the structure is the topic of Chapter Five (Part I). The author does an excellent job of connecting and building on arguments as she progresses through the chapters. The appendices include an overview of the excavation history (A) and a catalogue of the graffiti (B). For Chapter One, Levin-Richardson searches out new comparators for the structure, including slave quarters, storage areas, and inexpensive lodging. This approach suggests the layout of the brothel is not unique and leads to a new interpretation of the quality and commensality of the structure. While a low-status structure, it has good light for most rooms, and comfortably sized couches, whose masonry “pillows” and decoration recall wooden couches, suitable for a variety of activities. The chapter also examines graffiti and sightlines as a way of exploring how prostitutes and clients engaged with the space. 4 https://www.archeositarproject.it. 1 D. Sterry and R. J. Martin, Hos, Hookers, Call Girls, and Rent Boys: Professionals Writing on Life, Love, Money, and Sex (Brooklyn 2009). BOOK REVIEWS/COMPTES RENDUS 185 The material finds are the topic of Chapter Two. The physical objects are no longer locatable, but Levin-Richardson does an admirable job of compiling and analysing the finds using not simply the journal of Giuseppe Fiorelli, the Inspector of Excavations from 1860–1875, but also the record books of his on-site supervisors. Her focus lies on the activities the objects represent, but the paucity of finds leaves arguments inconclusive. She agrees with Thomas McGinn that glass cups and a bottle suggest the brothel was multipurpose, offering drink as well as sex, and not so different to other sex establishments at Pompeii.2 By comparison with similar objects from a variety of contexts, she suggests that a glass vial, a razor, and a bronze basin hint at bodily care for prostitutes, the residential potential of the brothel, or even the offering of other services, like shaves for clients. Supported by literary evidence, she posits further that the vial, if for perfume, may

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