In the swinging sixties, when religious vocation was still a path some families considered and nuns were not yet a common category for young women, many pondered the question of status with the old song that asked if life would be single, married, widowed, or nun. To keep monasteries open, communities occasionally drew in people from distant places. Although secularization swept through for decades, the old image of the monastery as a confinement for single mothers, survivors of abusive relationships, or those causing distress within families began to shift. A fresh, curious, and even feminist lens has emerged in recent times, reframing these spaces with a new curiosity.
Undeniably, monasteries have sometimes functioned as zones of punishment, yet that was not always the rule. Today, the memory of women left behind is revisited with new perspective. Moving into the twenty-first century and the era of MeToo, monastic life can appear attractive again, or at least nuns are viewed through a different historical prism. The podcast Felipe’s Daughters, guided by two thirty-something women with diverse backgrounds and doctorates in Baroque Literature from Brown University, explores the moments when women and nuns wielded influence during the Counter-Reformation. It balances entertainment with scholarly insight, showing how the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were pivotal for women’s power. Ana Garriga and Carmen Urbita describe how feminist thought can still learn from religious communities: there are many ways to relate, care, and visit one another, and these narratives form a lineage that can inspire present-day practices.
The core argument here is that nuns, even in seclusion, managed to carve out spaces of freedom within constraint. They could devote themselves to writing, music, or study if they chose. Drawing inspiration from Catalina de Erauso, a nun who disguised herself as a man to lead as an ensign during the conquest of the Americas, Argentinian author Mariana Cabezón Cámara — writer of The Naranjel Girls — insists that choosing the convent can be a meaningful path away from marriage as a social machine, a route to pursue personal aspirations.
Latin America offers an enduring icon: Mexican sister Juana Inés de la Cruz, a seventeenth-century nun who transformed her cell into a vast philosophical library and intellectual hub, liberated from church dictates. A small book collection now revisits Against the Ignorance of Women, a compilation that includes two influential letters: one to Sister Filotea de la Cruz, the pseudonym of a bishop who resisted women’s philosophical studies, and the other to the Portuguese Jesuit António Vieira, a text charged with feminist sentiment. Juana Inés’s figure is also examined through LGBTQI perspectives when her poems addressed to the viceroy of New Spain, the Countess of Paredes, are read with this lens in mind.
Back in Spain, roughly a century ago, Teresa of Ávila stands as a towering figure. Her life and ideas have inspired a film adaptation of Juan Mayorga’s play Teresa, highlighting her intellect and independence as a saint repeatedly under suspicion by inquisitorial powers. In 2015, marking her 500th birth anniversary, five novels appeared, with Cristina Morales offering a radical take in Bad Words (later reissued as Últimas tardes con Teresa). Morales imagines a diary in which Teresa contends with a society ruled by men who demand unwavering obedience from religious women. Felipe’s daughters suggest that monasteries were porous places where ideas could slip over walls through letters, and Teresa herself never ceased traveling even when faced with orders to halt.
Santa Rosa de Lima
Turning back to Latin America, Peruvian writer Santiago Roncagliolo, in his latest novel The Year the Devil Was Born (Seix Barral), recounts the life of another saint, Rosa de Lima. She is celebrated as the patron saint of the New World and a viceroy of Peru, who narrowly escaped accusations of witchcraft and later achieved consecration. Roncagliolo’s portrait highlights the complexities of sexual life within monastic spaces, including moments that echo male fantasy more than reality. For those curious about how cinema has echoed these themes, Paul Verhoeven’s Benedetta offers a contemporary cinematic exploration of similar dynamics, echoing historical notes of possession and power.
Urbita and Garriga are preparing a forthcoming book titled Convent Wisdom, slated for early 2025 under Blackie Books. The work already drew interest at the last Frankfurt Book Fair, receiving over twenty-five offers from publishers across eight countries and prompting seven American publishing houses to bid. The researchers note that not every nun joined the convent to showcase vocation; many sought a quiet life, and ongoing inquiries include saints known as Cañitas who fled town to preserve their independence away from marriage pressures and the dangers of childbirth.
As the conversation continues, the researchers emphasize that monasteries were never monolithic. Some women sought safety, others pursued the arts and learning, and still others chose paths that allowed personal autonomy within religious life. The ongoing work explores how these historic choices resonate today, inviting readers to reconsider the boundaries between faith, freedom, and self-determination. The podcast and forthcoming scholarship aim to illuminate how convent life, measured against the broader currents of society, reveals a more nuanced picture of history than the stereotypes suggest. [Citation: Felipe’s Daughters podcast and upcoming Convent Wisdom publication notes.]