An Englishwoman in Utah: The Story of a Life's Experience in Mormonism — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Theology
Stenhouse, T. B. H., Mrs., 1829-1904, Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 1811-1896 [Author of introduction, etc.] Project Gutenberg 2019 Not confirmed
Latter Day Saints; Latter Day Saint churches; Lee, John D. (John Doyle), 1812-1877; Mountain Meadows Massacre, Utah, 1857; Stenhouse, T. B. H., Mrs., 1829-1904 Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 178,395
Reading time 776 min
Text sections 17

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An autobiographical account of a woman's twenty-five years inside Mormonism, detailing her journey from convert to critic, with firsthand observations on polygamy, the Mountain Meadows Massacre, and the theocratic control of daily life in Utah.
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may seem altogether incredible, would to a Mormon mind appear simply a matter of ordinary every-day occurrence with which every one in Utah is supposed to be perfectly familiar. The reader must please remember that I am not telling—as so many writers have told in newspaper correspondence and sensational stories—the hasty and incorrect statements and opinions gleaned during a short visit to Salt Lake City; but my own experience—the story of a faith, strange, wild, and terrible it may be, but which was once so intimately enwoven with all my associations that it became a part of my very existence itself; and facts, the too true reality of which there are living witnesses by hundreds, and even thousands, who could attest if only they would.

With the reader’s permission I shall briefly sketch my experience from the very beginning.

I was born in the year 1829, in St. Heliers, Jersey—one of the islands of the English Channel.

From my earliest recollection I was favourably disposed to religious influences, and when only fourteen years of age I became a member of the Baptist Church, of which my father and mother were also members. With the simplicity and enthusiasm of youth I was devoted to the religious faith of the denomination to which I had attached myself, and sought to live in a manner which should be acceptable to God.

My childhood passed away without the occurrence of any events which would be worthy of mention, although, of course, my mind was even then receiving that religious bias which afterwards led me to adopt the faith of the Latter-day Saints. Like most girls in their teens I had a natural love of dress—a weakness, if such it be, of the sex generally. I was not extravagant, for that I could not be; but thirty years ago members of dissenting churches were more staid in their dress and demeanour and were less of the world, I think, than they are to-day. In plainness of dress the Methodists and Baptists much resembled the Quakers. My girlish weakness caused me to be the subject of many a reprimand from older church-members who were rather strict in their views. I well remember one smooth-faced, pious, corpulent brother, who was old enough to be my father, saying to me one day: “My dear young sister, were it not for your love of dress, I have seriously thought that I would some day make you my wife.” I wickedly resolved that if a few bright coloured ribbons would disgust my pious admirer, it should not be my fault if he still continued to think of me. But many of our other church-members were more lenient. Our good minister in particular bore with my imperfections, as he said, on account of my youth and inexperience; and later still, when I was ready to leave my native island, an extra ribbon or a fashionable dress had not affected my standing in the Baptist denomination.

I mention these trifles, not because I attach any importance to them in themselves, but because similar religious tendencies and a devotional feeling were almost universally found to be the causes which induced men and women to join the Mormon Church. From among Roman Catholics, who place unquestioning confidence in their priesthood, and also from among persons predisposed to infidelity, came few, if any, converts to Mormonism. But it was from among the religiously inclined, the Evangelical Protestants of the Old World, that the greater number of proselytes came.

But to return to my story. I was one of the younger members of a large family; and when I thought of the future I readily saw that if I desired a position in life I should have to make it for myself; and this I resolved to do. I began by consulting all my friends who I thought would be able to counsel or assist me in carrying out my determination; and before long I found the opportunity which I sought. An English lady, the wife of a captain in the British army, to whom I had confided my aspirations, proposed—although I was not yet fifteen years of age—to take me with her to France, in the temporary capacity of governess, to her children, assuring me at the same time that she would advance my interests in every possible way after our arrival.

Fanny Stenhouse's narrative moves between two poles: the intimate domestic sphere and the public arena of Mormon theocracy. In one scene, she recounts a wife earnestly selecting a second wife for her husband, only to discover the couple already know each other—a moment that exposes the calculated emotional management polygamy requires. Elsewhere, the book shifts to the Mountain Meadows Massacre, where Stenhouse documents the complicity of church leaders in the 1857 slaughter of emigrants. This structural oscillation between parlor negotiations and frontier violence gives the memoir its distinctive tension.

The Wife as Matchmaker

Stenhouse reproduces a conversation in which a Mormon sister describes proposing a plural wife to her husband. The woman insists she acted from principle, not jealousy: 'The Saints marry from principle and not from love,' she explains. When the husband turns out to be already acquainted with the girl, the wife’s composure cracks. She admits she would not have allowed the marriage if they loved each other. The passage reveals how polygamy demanded that wives suppress romantic attachment while performing enthusiasm for the system. Stenhouse lets the dialogue speak for itself, never editorializing, but the absurdity is palpable.

The Theocratic Household

Throughout the excerpts, domestic decisions are never purely private. The wife who arranges a second marriage does so partly to secure a more comfortable home for the girl—a reminder that economic dependency undergirded plural marriage. Stenhouse herself, as a convert who followed her missionary husband to Utah, experienced the church’s reach into every aspect of family life. The memoir’s structure mirrors this: scenes of housework and child-rearing are interleaved with accounts of church councils and bishop’s courts. The boundary between home and institution dissolves.

Movement Between Scenes

Stenhouse does not organize her story chronologically by date but by thematic clusters. She jumps from a polygamy negotiation to a description of the Mountain Meadows Massacre, then back to a domestic quarrel. This restless movement mimics the unsettled life of a woman caught between loyalty to her husband and growing disillusionment. The excerpts show her using direct speech to dramatize conflicts—a technique that gives the reader the sensation of overhearing real arguments. The shifts in setting, from Salt Lake City parlors to the Utah desert, reinforce the book’s central contrast between civilized pretension and raw coercion.

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Frame

Stowe’s preface frames the memoir as an abolitionist text, comparing Mormon polygamy to Southern slavery. She calls it 'a cruel slavery whose chains have cut into the very hearts of thousands of our sisters.' This comparison was politically charged in 1880, when the book appeared. Stowe’s endorsement gave Stenhouse’s story national credibility, but it also shaped how readers were meant to interpret the narrative—as an expose rather than a personal confession. The preface thus functions as a second lens, directing attention to the systemic oppression behind individual anecdotes.

Readers should attend to the way Stenhouse layers voices: her own, those of other women, and the official pronouncements of church leaders. The book is less a linear autobiography than a collage of testimonies. Because the excerpts are incomplete, the full arc of Stenhouse’s departure from Mormonism remains unclear, but the pattern of her critique is already visible in these pages. The memoir rewards those who read for its structural ingenuity as much as its historical content.

I finished An Englishwoman in Utah feeling that strange ache of someone who leaves a world they once loved. That journey from certainty to quiet doubt reminded me of another old book, one that searches for light differently, without ever losing its gentle hope. The Gospel Day; Or, the Light of Christianity — Text and Context sits beside it on my shelf now, two voices asking how we ever know what to believe.

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