XIIThe Nineteenth Century: The Romantic Period
Identifieur interne : 001A17 ( Istex/Corpus ); précédent : 001A16; suivant : 001A18XIIThe Nineteenth Century: The Romantic Period
Auteurs : Orianne Smith ; Matthew Scott ; Emma Mason ; Jason Whittaker ; Gavin Budge ; Felicity James ; Amy MuseSource :
- The Year's Work in English Studies [ 0084-4144 ] ; 2006.
Abstract
This chapter has five sections: 1. General; 2. Poetry; 3. Prose; 4. Prose Fiction; 5. Drama. Section 1 is by Orianne Smith; section 2(a) is by Matthew Scott, section 2(b) is by Emma Mason; section 2(c) is by Jason Whittaker; section 3 is by Gavin Budge; section 4 is by Felicity James; and section 5 is by Amy Muse.
Url:
DOI: 10.1093/ywes/mal012
Links to Exploration step
ISTEX:9636853874DAF660319EFA428604DD92867E3F82Le document en format XML
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General; 2. Poetry; 3. Prose; 4. Prose Fiction; 5. Drama. Section 1 is by Orianne Smith; section 2(a) is by Matthew Scott, section 2(b) is by Emma Mason; section 2(c) is by Jason Whittaker; section 3 is by Gavin Budge; section 4 is by Felicity James; and section 5 is by Amy Muse.</abstract><qualityIndicators><score>7.708</score><pdfWordCount>32221</pdfWordCount><pdfCharCount>195787</pdfCharCount><pdfVersion>1.4</pdfVersion><pdfPageCount>67</pdfPageCount><pdfPageSize>391 x 612 pts</pdfPageSize><refBibsNative>true</refBibsNative><abstractWordCount>59</abstractWordCount><abstractCharCount>315</abstractCharCount><keywordCount>0</keywordCount></qualityIndicators><title>XIIThe Nineteenth Century: The Romantic Period</title><genre><json:string>research-article</json:string></genre><host><title>The Year's Work in English Studies</title><language><json:string>unknown</json:string></language><issn><json:string>0084-4144</json:string></issn><publisherId><json:string>ywes</json:string></publisherId><volume>85</volume><issue>1</issue><pages><first>581</first><last>647</last></pages><genre><json:string>journal</json:string></genre><subject><json:item><value>Articles</value></json:item></subject></host><namedEntities><unitex><date><json:string>in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries</json:string><json:string>1831</json:string><json:string>1818</json:string><json:string>1820</json:string><json:string>1807</json:string><json:string>eighteenth century</json:string><json:string>2005</json:string><json:string>during the nineteenth century</json:string><json:string>1795</json:string><json:string>throughout the nineteenth century</json:string><json:string>2001</json:string><json:string>1791</json:string><json:string>1960s</json:string><json:string>2006</json:string><json:string>The Nineteenth Century</json:string><json:string>1850s</json:string><json:string>the nineteenth century</json:string><json:string>1976</json:string><json:string>2002</json:string><json:string>the twenty-first century</json:string><json:string>1820s</json:string><json:string>1809</json:string><json:string>1999</json:string><json:string>1800</json:string><json:string>in the nineteenth century</json:string><json:string>Nineteenth Century</json:string><json:string>1970s</json:string><json:string>during the eighteenth century</json:string><json:string>1860s</json:string><json:string>throughout the eighteenth century</json:string><json:string>2003</json:string><json:string>1793</json:string><json:string>1790s</json:string><json:string>1718</json:string><json:string>from the eighteenth century</json:string><json:string>1828</json:string><json:string>the eighteenth century</json:string><json:string>1806</json:string><json:string>2004</json:string><json:string>1870s</json:string><json:string>1824</json:string><json:string>1800s</json:string><json:string>1662</json:string></date><geogName><json:string>Appulby Gorges</json:string><json:string>River Duddon</json:string></geogName><orgName><json:string>Texas Tech University</json:string><json:string>Organization of Knowledge</json:string><json:string>Frank Jordan and David Hewitt</json:string><json:string>William Ireland and Charlotte Smith</json:string><json:string>NASSR</json:string><json:string>East India Company</json:string><json:string>The Chemical Philosopher</json:string><json:string>National Erotics and Political Theory</json:string><json:string>North American Society for the Study of Romanticism</json:string><json:string>Century American Poetry</json:string><json:string>Jordan, Frank, and David Hewitt</json:string><json:string>University of Sussex Special Collections</json:string><json:string>Anglo-American Landscape</json:string><json:string>France and Italy</json:string><json:string>Ireland and America</json:string><json:string>Edinburgh University</json:string><json:string>Norway and Sweden</json:string><json:string>Yale University</json:string><json:string>France and the French Revolution</json:string></orgName><orgName_funder></orgName_funder><orgName_provider></orgName_provider><persName><json:string>Jacob Boehme</json:string><json:string>An Anatomy</json:string><json:string>Alison Hickey</json:string><json:string>Fiona Stafford</json:string><json:string>Anne Royall</json:string><json:string>An Epitome</json:string><json:string>John Herschel</json:string><json:string>John G. 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Jackson</json:string><json:string>Harriet Lee</json:string><json:string>G.E. Bentley</json:string><json:string>Regina Hewitt</json:string><json:string>Coleridge</json:string><json:string>James Hogg</json:string><json:string>Robert Blair</json:string><json:string>Sarah Trimmer</json:string><json:string>Cedric C. Barfoot</json:string><json:string>Julia M. 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all rights reserved</p></licence><p scheme="https://loaded-corpus.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/XBH-GTWS0RDP-M">oup</p></availability><date>2006</date></publicationStmt><notesStmt><note type="research-article" scheme="https://content-type.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/XTP-1JC4F85T-7">research-article</note><note type="journal" scheme="https://publication-type.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/JMC-0GLKJH51-B">journal</note></notesStmt><sourceDesc><biblStruct type="inbook"><analytic><title level="a">XIIThe Nineteenth Century: The Romantic Period</title><author xml:id="author-0000"><persName><forename type="first">Orianne</forename><surname>Smith</surname></persName><affiliation>University of Maryland-Baltimore County</affiliation></author><author xml:id="author-0001"><persName><forename type="first">Matthew</forename><surname>Scott</surname></persName><affiliation>University of Oxford</affiliation></author><author xml:id="author-0002"><persName><forename type="first">Emma</forename><surname>Mason</surname></persName><affiliation>University of Warwick</affiliation></author><author xml:id="author-0003"><persName><forename type="first">Jason</forename><surname>Whittaker</surname></persName><affiliation>Falmouth College of Arts</affiliation></author><author xml:id="author-0004"><persName><forename type="first">Gavin</forename><surname>Budge</surname></persName><affiliation>University of Central England</affiliation></author><author xml:id="author-0005"><persName><forename type="first">Felicity</forename><surname>James</surname></persName><affiliation>University of Oxford</affiliation></author><author xml:id="author-0006"><persName><forename type="first">Amy</forename><surname>Muse</surname></persName><affiliation>University of St Thomas</affiliation></author><idno type="istex">9636853874DAF660319EFA428604DD92867E3F82</idno><idno type="ark">ark:/67375/HXZ-3JP5BX6W-Q</idno><idno type="DOI">10.1093/ywes/mal012</idno></analytic><monogr><title level="j">The Year's Work in English Studies</title><idno type="pISSN">0084-4144</idno><idno type="publisher-id">ywes</idno><idno type="PublisherID-hwp">ywes</idno><imprint><publisher>Oxford University Press</publisher><date type="published" when="2006"></date><biblScope unit="volume">85</biblScope><biblScope unit="issue">1</biblScope><biblScope unit="page" from="581">581</biblScope><biblScope unit="page" to="647">647</biblScope></imprint></monogr></biblStruct></sourceDesc></fileDesc><profileDesc><creation><date>2006</date></creation><abstract><p>This chapter has five sections: 1. General; 2. Poetry; 3. Prose; 4. Prose Fiction; 5. Drama. Section 1 is by Orianne Smith; section 2(a) is by Matthew Scott, section 2(b) is by Emma Mason; section 2(c) is by Jason Whittaker; section 3 is by Gavin Budge; section 4 is by Felicity James; and section 5 is by Amy Muse.</p></abstract><textClass><keywords scheme="Journal Subject"><list><head></head><item><term>Articles</term></item></list></keywords></textClass></profileDesc><revisionDesc><change when="2006">Published</change></revisionDesc></teiHeader></istex:fulltextTEI><json:item><extension>txt</extension><original>false</original><mimetype>text/plain</mimetype><uri>https://api.istex.fr/document/9636853874DAF660319EFA428604DD92867E3F82/fulltext/txt</uri></json:item></fulltext><metadata><istex:metadataXml wicri:clean="corpus oup, element #text not found" wicri:toSee="no header"><istex:xmlDeclaration>version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"</istex:xmlDeclaration><istex:docType PUBLIC="-//NLM//DTD Journal Publishing DTD v2.3 20070202//EN" URI="journalpublishing.dtd" name="istex:docType"></istex:docType><istex:document><article article-type="research-article">
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<article-title>XII<break></break>The Nineteenth Century: The Romantic Period</article-title>
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<contrib-group>
<contrib contrib-type="author">
<name><surname>Smith</surname><given-names>Orianne</given-names></name>
</contrib>
<aff>University of Maryland-Baltimore County</aff>
</contrib-group>
<contrib-group>
<contrib contrib-type="author">
<name><surname>Scott</surname><given-names>Matthew</given-names></name>
</contrib>
<aff>University of Oxford</aff>
</contrib-group>
<contrib-group>
<contrib contrib-type="author">
<name><surname>Mason</surname><given-names>Emma</given-names></name>
</contrib>
<aff>University of Warwick</aff>
</contrib-group>
<contrib-group>
<contrib contrib-type="author">
<name><surname>Whittaker</surname><given-names>Jason</given-names></name>
</contrib>
<aff>Falmouth College of Arts</aff>
</contrib-group>
<contrib-group>
<contrib contrib-type="author">
<name><surname>Budge</surname><given-names>Gavin</given-names></name>
</contrib>
<aff>University of Central England</aff>
</contrib-group>
<contrib-group>
<contrib contrib-type="author">
<name><surname>James</surname><given-names>Felicity</given-names></name>
</contrib>
<aff>University of Oxford</aff>
</contrib-group>
<contrib-group>
<contrib contrib-type="author">
<name><surname>Muse</surname><given-names>Amy</given-names></name>
</contrib>
<aff>University of St Thomas</aff>
</contrib-group>
<pub-date pub-type="ppub">
<year>2006</year>
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<volume>85</volume>
<issue>1</issue>
<fpage>581</fpage>
<lpage>647</lpage>
<copyright-statement>© The English Association; all rights reserved</copyright-statement>
<copyright-year>2006</copyright-year>
<abstract>
<p>This chapter has five sections: 1. General; 2. Poetry; 3. Prose; 4. Prose Fiction; 5. Drama. <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC1">Section 1</xref> is by Orianne Smith; <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC2.1">section 2(a)</xref> is by Matthew Scott, <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC2.2">section 2(b)</xref> is by Emma Mason; <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC2.3">section 2(c)</xref> is by Jason Whittaker; <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC3">section 3</xref> is by Gavin Budge; <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC4">section 4</xref> is by Felicity James; and <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC5">section 5</xref> is by Amy Muse.</p></abstract>
</article-meta>
</front>
<body>
<sec id="SEC1"><title>1. General</title>
<p>It is not often that one reads a scholarly work with the same excitement and deep enjoyment that accompanies our reading of literature, but William Deresiewicz's thoughtful and thought-provoking book, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B11"><italic>Jane Austen and the Romantic Poets</italic></xref>, is an exception. This elegant and well-written book is a pleasure to read, and one of the most significant books published this year in the category of general Romantic era studies. Deresiewicz's historically nuanced monograph reveals the profound influence of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott, and Byron on Austen, and demonstrates the ways in which her engagement with these Romantic writers deepened her art and enabled her to produce her most mature works: <italic>Mansfield Park, Emma</italic>, and <italic>Persuasion</italic>. As Deresiewicz notes, Austen scholars have long acknowledged the ways in which Austen's writing was shaped by the literature she read in her youth—writers such as Richardson, Johnson, Cowper, and Burney—but there has been very little attention paid to her affinities with her contemporaries in the Romantic period. One reason for this is that, until very recently, Austen and the Romantic poets were positioned at opposite ends of the critical spectrum: prose versus poetry, eighteenth century versus nineteenth century, conservative versus radical, and female versus male. While attempts to widen the canon and to trace a specifically female Romanticism have relabelled Austen as ‘Romantic’, no full-length study has taken on the task of exploring the pervasiveness of Romantic themes in Austen's later work. <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B11"><italic>Jane Austen and the Romantic Poets</italic></xref> addresses this need.</p>
<p>The book explores the impact of Austen's engagement with the works of Coleridge, Scott, and Byron, but it is Wordsworth who emerges here as the greatest influence on Austen. The first chapter after the introduction, ‘Early Phase versus Major Phase’, provides an overview of the crucial differences between these two distinct phases of Austen's career, arguing that it is the Wordsworthian themes of receptivity to nature and the ways in which memory and loss contribute to the growth of the mind that distinguish her later novels from the novels written earlier in her career. In the worlds depicted in <italic>Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility</italic>, and <italic>Pride and Prejudice</italic> characters change only when impelled to do so by an external force, as Deresiewicz perceptively notes: ‘A graph of virtually any feeling in the early novels would resemble a set of stairs: a series of horizontal lines—steady states—linked by vertical jumps up or down—sudden shifts, as the personality that has hardened into one configuration is shattered by some dramatic event and instantaneously reassembles itself into a new one’ (p. 41). This stasis is further emphasized by Austen's choice of paired abstractions in the titles of her earlier works. In contrast, the titles of her later novels replace these abstractions with names—<italic>Mansfield Park</italic> and <italic>Emma</italic>—which open up the possibility for change: how will Mansfield Park change? And, of course, ‘What will become of’ Emma?’</p>
<p>Deresiewicz's close readings of <italic>Mansfield Park, Emma</italic>, and <italic>Persuasion</italic> in the chapters that follow convincingly demonstrate the importance of Romantic ideas in Austen's ‘major’ phase. Chapter 3 explores Austen's appropriation of the Wordsworthian idea of memory as substitution in <italic>Mansfield Park</italic>. In this novel, as Deresiewicz points out, there is an explicit reference to Wordsworth's ‘Tintern Abbey’ in the scene in which Fanny Price's East Room is presided over by a transparency of the abbey. Not coincidentally, it is here in the East Room that Fanny is able to communicate with past feelings and friends through the mementos she has collected, in much the same way as the Wye valley functions for Wordsworth. Moreover, as in Wordsworth, memory does not simply recall the past for Fanny in this scene and others—it <italic>transforms</italic> the past: ‘refiguring it, reinterpreting it, and … redeeming experiences of suffering and loss by recognizing them as part of the texture of the self and its history’ (p. 58). The strongest link, however, between this novel and the work of Wordsworth is the abundance of fetishes: objects associated with an absent or otherwise unavailable individual that are elevated to a quasi-magical or ritual status: for instance, the gifts Fanny wears to the ball, and the silver knife in the Portsmouth section. In <italic>Emma</italic>, discussed in chapter 4, it is the ambiguous relationships between the characters that Deresiewicz links to Austen's engagement with the Romantic movement. Like Wordsworth, Byron, and Coleridge, Austen explores the concept of friendship in this novel as the victory in the early nineteenth century of affective individualism over the imperatives of lineage. In his final chapter, Deresiewicz focuses on the connections between widowhood, in <italic>Persuasion</italic>, and the Romantic obsession with what happens after the experience of loss. Readers will appreciate the subtlety of Deresiewicz's close readings of Austen's later works, which go beyond merely gesturing to Austen's engagement with the Romantics to showing how she takes the Romantic themes she has gleaned from these writers and makes them her own.</p>
<p>Two noteworthy books were published this year on the subject of rhetoric in the Romantic period: Martin Wallen's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B51"><italic>City of Health, Fields of Disease: Revolutions in the Poetry, Medicine, and Philosophy of Romanticism</italic></xref> and James Mulvihill's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B35"><italic>Upstart Talents: Rhetoric and the Career of Reason in English Romantic Discourse, 1790–1820.</italic></xref> Scholars interested in the interdisciplinary connections between medicine, literature, and philosophy will be particularly engaged by Wallen's <italic>City of Health, Fields of Disease</italic>. This book probes the central role the rhetoric of medicine plays in the works of Wordsworth and Coleridge, as well as the German philosopher F.W.J. Schelling. Wallen's argument is underwritten by the premise that what Wordsworth and Coleridge shared with their contemporaries in the field of medicine was an understanding of the dichotomy of health and disease as a moral issue. Implicit in this understanding was a reliance on the Socratic contrast between the healthy city and the chaos of disease that always threatens from without. The first chapter explores the way in which Wordsworth's Preface and Coleridge's prose position health as a space delineated through the perception of pathological threats. Chapter 2 focuses on the connections between Coleridge's successful attempt to cure himself of disease and his metamorphosis from a poet overshadowed by Wordsworth to a confident philosopher and literary theorist. As Wallen demonstrates in chapters 3 and 4, Coleridge derived much of his medical rhetoric and his ethical stance from the work of the Romantic physician Thomas Beddoes, who positioned himself and his treatises against what he cast as the questionable character and, by analogy, immoral doctrines of the radical Scottish theorist John Brown. Chapter 5 provides an analysis of Schelling's transformation of the Socratic definition of ethical space as spiritual depth into an open-ended ‘song’ of material consciousness. The final chapter reads Schelling's <italic>The Ages of the World</italic> as an ambitious attempt to rewrite the history of the world in a way that challenged the primacy of Cartesian duality as an organizing principle. Significantly, Schelling accomplishes this by using Humphry Davy's accounts of electromagnetic fluid as a paradigm for the organic development of the world and its inhabitants.</p>
<p>By tracing the trajectory of the rejuvenation of Socratic values by Wordsworth and Coleridge, and the radical alternative offered by Schelling, <italic>Cities of Health, Fields of Disease</italic> illustrates the pivotal role that medical rhetoric played in redefining the relationship of human beings to society and nature in Romantic literature and philosophy. Moving from the world of medicine to the world of politics, the other book published this year on Romantic rhetoric, Mulvihill's <italic>Upstart Talents</italic>, explores the bipartisan function of political rhetoric in British public life during this period. Mulvihill's study complicates our current critical understanding of the radical/reactionary axis of political language in this era by demonstrating the complex interplay between regressive and progressive tendencies in political rhetoric of all stripes. <italic>Upstart Talents</italic> argues that all Romantic rhetoric—whether reactionary or reformist—employed ‘reasoned arguments while also exhibiting irrationalist tendencies not so much supplanting rational discourse as using it in unexpected ways’ (p. 19). The first chapter describes the impact of the two new schools of rhetoric that emerged in the last half of the eighteenth century: the elocutionary movement and the new rhetoricians. As Mulvihill notes, both movements adapted the theory and practice of rhetoric to the epistemological advances made in empirical philosophy since Locke, which enabled the reduction of truth to an impression. For this reason, Romantic rhetoric became an extremely flexible medium, enabling the rational manipulation of irrational energies for a variety of political purposes. Chapters 2 and 3 investigate rhetorical imposture in contemporary guides to rhetoric, parliamentary speaking, and the queen's trial in 1820. While the survey-style approach of the opening chapters effectively demonstrates the breadth and depth of Mulvihill's argument, readers will welcome the close reading of William Cobbett's career and polemical techniques in chapter 4. The case of Cobbett, who wrote for both ministerial and reform presses, exemplifies the fluid relationship between reasoned argument and imposture. The final chapter reveals the influence of the self-conscious and deliberate oscillation of contemporary rhetoric between rationality and irrationality in literary texts such as William Wordsworth's <italic>The Borderers</italic>, Godwin's <italic>Caleb Williams</italic>, Mary Shelley's <italic>Frankenstein</italic>, and Blake's prophetic poems.</p>
<p>It is difficult to categorize one of the more experimental books published this year: John G. Rudy's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B44"><italic>Romanticism and Zen Buddhism</italic></xref>. Neither historically inflected nor theoretically based, this book explores the parallels between the perspectives of the canonical male Romantic poets and the ‘self-emptying’ meditative practice of Zen Buddhism. In chapters on Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, Percy Shelley, and Blake, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B44"><italic>Romanticism and Zen Buddhism</italic></xref> argues that, like the meditative dynamics of Zen Buddhist practice, the poetic process engaged in by these writers entailed the retrieval of an originary ground prior to all notions of selfhood and beyond the subject–object dualities that have dominated Western thought. Although this is an interesting comparison, many readers will balk at Rudy's rather heavy-handed approach to his subject, as well as at his apparent resistance to more traditional methods of scholarship, which he writes off as ‘a systematic grasping for intellectual and emotional straws’ (p. xiii). By contrast, Rudy represents his study as a bracing alternative to the kind of critical enquiry engaged in by scholars working in the academy today. For this reason, as noted in the preface by Mark Lussier, Rudy ‘eschews standard critical engagements with secondary criticism’, which is ‘so prominent a feature of literary criticism’, in order ‘to pursue instead a direct juxtaposition of the primary’ (p. v). While this could be interpreted as a bold and ambitious move, one cannot help wondering why Rudy would choose to ignore and most likely offend such a large portion of his potential readership.</p>
<p>Two excellent collections of essays were published this year in the category of general Romanticism: Gilroy, ed., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B18"><italic>Green and Pleasant Land: English Culture and the Romantic Countryside</italic></xref> and Rajan and Plotnitsky, eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B41"><italic>Idealism without Absolutes: Philosophy and Romantic Culture</italic></xref>. <italic>Green and Pleasant Land</italic> probes the ideological investment of particular ways of experiencing the English countryside of the Romantic era. Using the recent UK foot and mouth crisis as a point of departure, this wide-ranging collection of essays argues that the present-day politicization of the English landscape is in many ways a direct legacy of Romantic ideology. As Donna Landry puts it very succinctly in the first sentence of the first essay: ‘The picturesque movement has a lot to answer for’ (p. 1). Landry's ‘Ruined Cottages: The Contradictory Legacy of the Picturesque for England's Green and Pleasant Land’ (pp. 1–17) investigates the connections between the contemporary tendency to idealize and commodify rural life while ignoring its realities and the picturesque aesthetics of Romantic writers such as William Gilpin. As Landry notes, Wordsworth's <italic>The Ruined Cottage</italic> is a significant example of this trend in the Romantic period. By aestheticizing the visible signs of economic deprivation, ‘the ruined cottage becomes simultaneously desirable as a feature of the aestheticised depopulated landscape for the Rambler seeking anti- or asocial escape, and as a fantasy space of gentrifiable possibility’ (p. 17). Kiene Brillenburg Wurth's ‘How the Dwarf Became the Giant: S.T. Coleridge's Kantian Appropriation of Sublime Nature in the Lake District’ (pp. 19–29) argues that Coleridge's apparent enjoyment of the arduousness of his travels in the <italic>Guide Through the District of the Lakes</italic> [1810, 1835] demonstrates the ways in which the landscape provided an opportunity for Coleridge to experience and celebrate his moral superiority as a masculine subject capable of weathering the most hazardous of situations. Nicholas Roe's ‘Green, Unpleasant Land’ (pp. 31–43) points to the similarities between the apocalyptic rhetoric of the media's response to the foot and mouth crisis and Romantic millenarianism. In both historical moments, the sense of urgency is heightened by the insistence on the need to protect the English landscape: as Roe notes, this is a political strategy rooted in Burkean conservativism. In ‘The Habit and the Horse, or, the Suburbanisation of Female Equitation’ (pp. 45–56), Amanda Gilroy explores the emergence in the Romantic period of a suburban sensibility, focusing in particular on how the cultural body was constructed in equitation manuals for female equestrians.</p>
<p>The irony of the Conservative Party's adoption of Blake's lyric as a touchstone for rural nostalgia is the subject of Cedric C. Barfoot's ‘Blake's England and the Restoration of Jerusalem: Too Late for Green and Pleasant Idylls?’ (pp. 57–71). As Barfoot notes, transforming Blake's call to imaginative endeavour and redemption through creativity into a patriotic anthem is, to say the least, a gross misreading of his words. Simon Kövesi's ‘John Clare's “I” and “Eye”: Egotism and Ecologism’ (pp. 73–88) engages in a close reading of Clare's considerations of egotism, showing how his resistance to it ‘forms an essential and politicising foundation of his ecological consciousness’ (p. 73). Jeanne Moskal's ‘ “As the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation”: The English Parson and the English Countryside in Ann Radcliffe's Travels’ (pp. 89–103) traces Radcliffe's representation of clergy and their relationship to the landscape within the context of Radcliffe's nationalist myth. Robert Clark convincingly argues, in ‘Jane Austen and the Enclosures’ (pp. 105–24), that, contrary to popular belief, Austen was very familiar with the process of enclosure and the brutal consequences of this practice through her family connections. According to Clark, Austen's silence on this topic therefore ‘becomes a fictional form of Burkean conservatism, promoting the idea that there is a benign continuity of interest between the owners of the great estates and the other people who live on the land’ (p. 121). Robert Miles agrees with Clark that Austen aligns herself with a Burkean perspective in his essay, ‘ “Our Thing”: Jane Austen's Green and Pleasant Home Counties’ (pp. 125–36), which suggests that Austen has become ‘our thing’ in the English imagination: exemplifying what it is to be English. Wessel Krul's ‘Constable and his Subject: Perspectives from Both Sides of the Channel’ (pp. 137–53) uses the difference between the French critical perspective on Constable as the inventor of Impressionism and the British view of him as a leading figure in the rise of a traditionalist ideology to caution against a too narrow or proscriptive interpretation of Constable's influence. In ‘ “Some corner of a foreign field that is forever England”: The Transatlantic Construction of the Anglo-American Landscape’ (pp. 155–71), Wil Verhoeven argues that ‘America’ became a crucial site of contestation in Jacobin and anti-Jacobin travel narratives in the 1790s. The final essay in this collection, Gerald MacLean's ‘Don Juan in England, or, the Disappearance of the Countryside’ (pp. 173–84), explores the links between travel and national identity in the final cantos of <italic>Don Juan</italic>, and reveals Byron's belief that Englishness was to be found not in the English landscape, but in the act of acquiring foreign wealth, which was then displaced onto the bodies of Englishwomen. In Byron's representation, the countryside functioned merely as a repository and a backdrop for the public display of the spoils of trade and empire.</p>
<p><italic>Green and Pleasant Land</italic> reveals the ways in which contemporary responses to the foot and mouth crisis were informed by the legacy of Romantic ideology; the other collection of essays published in the category of general Romanticism this year, <italic>Idealism Without Absolutes</italic>, is timely in another sense. Expertly edited by Tilottama Rajan and Arkady Plotnitsky, this is an ambitious attempt to re-energize German idealism as a viable mode of literary theory, and will be of interest to many scholars of the Romantic period—particularly those who do comparative work on German and British Romanticism. Although differing in content and scope, the essays in this volume agree on three interrelated points: that idealism can exist without the totalizing formulas often associated with post-Kantian philosophy, e.g. without absolutes; that there is a symbiotic relationship between ideality and materiality, which occurs through the contamination of philosophy by other, typically considered more ‘material’, disciplines such as psychology, history, and literature; and, finally, that the revision of idealism by materialism explored here by all the contributors is paradigmatically and quintessentially Romantic. In contrast to the traditional representation of materiality as the opposite of idealism, as Rajan notes in the introduction, ‘the aim of this volume is to show the constitutive role of materiality in the work of the figures defining <italic>Idealist</italic> philosophy’ (p. 2). Rajan explains that this is not as radical a notion as it may appear. Kant, for example, was working within a university system that was organized according to the medieval hierarchy of higher faculties (law, medicine, and theology) and a lower faculty of ‘philosophy’, who were expected to teach other lower disciplines such as aesthetics, ethics, history, anthropology, the natural sciences, psychology, and religion. Thus from the outset, German idealists were necessarily interdisciplinary in their thinking and methodology. Taken as a whole, this collection argues that the interdisciplinary nature of Romantic philosophy—and its unique and symbiotic relationship to materiality—positions it as a significant matrix for contemporary theory.</p>
<p>The first essay, Jan Plug's ‘Romanticism and the Invention of Literature’ (pp. 15–37), argues that the interdisciplinary setting of Kant's work at the university caused him to construct philosophy as needing a referent even as he sought to separate it from other disciplines. As Plug suggests, this (dis)placement reconfigures the task of philosophy through the analogue of the aesthetic—a process which aligns idealism with the Jena Romantics, who similarly crossed philosophy with aesthetics. Hegel is the subject of the next three essays, by Andrzej Warminski, Rajan, and Jochen Schulte-Sasse, respectively. Warminski probes what he calls Hegel's ‘double, ambiguous and ambivalent if not downright duplicitous, attitude toward art’ in ‘Allegories of Symbol: On Hegel's <italic>Aesthetics</italic>’ (pp. 39–50). As Warminski notes, Hegel posits a history of art in the <italic>Aesthetics</italic> that allegorizes idealism's inability to attain its end in absolute spirit. Like Plug's earlier essay, Rajan's ‘Toward a Cultural Idealism: Negativity and Freedom in Hegel and Kant’ (pp. 51–71) explores the connection between aesthetics and philosophy, focusing in particular on the transposition of the Kantian sublime into the historical framework of Hegel's <italic>Aesthetics</italic>. In ‘Mediality in Hegel: From Work to Text in the <italic>Phenomenology of Spirit</italic>’ (pp. 73–91), Schulte-Sasse discusses the notion of work in the <italic>Phenomenology</italic> as the process by which consciousness externalizes, reflects on, and comes to know itself.</p>
<p>The process of historical reflection in idealism is the subject of Gary Handwerk's ‘Beyond Beginnings: Schlegel and Romantic Historiography’ (pp. 93–112) as well. In this well-written and incisive essay, Handwerk positions Schlegel's middle and late career within the context of the Romantic impulses of his earlier work, exploring the deeply historical and synthetic post-Jena writings as an extension of his earlier Romantic leanings, and contrasting his anti-systematic ideology with the rationality of Hegel and other post-Enlightenment thinkers. As Handwerk notes (p. 95), Schlegel's work offers us glimpses of a possible Romantic historiographical project that Schlegel himself never brought to completion, suggesting alternatives outside the totalizing metanarratives that we postmoderns so readily accuse the nineteenth century of having passed down to us.</p>
<p>In ‘Curvatures: Hegel and the Baroque’ (pp. 113–34), Arkady Plotnitsky connects the mathematical logic of Hegel's system to Deleuze's reading of Leibniz and persuasively argues for the influence of Leibniz on the development of Hegel's thought. David Farrell Krell's ‘Three Ends of the Absolute: Schelling, Hölderlin, Novalis’ (pp. 135–59) explores the ‘ends’ of the absolute in these three thinkers, and suggests that the de-absolutization of idealism is possible because of their shared commitment to the negative as well as the positive elements in their work. Joel Faflak's ‘Schopenhauer's Telling Body of Philosophy’ (pp. 161–80) reads <italic>The World as Will and Representation</italic> as Schopenhauer's struggle to mourn the death of idealism constructively even as the trauma of this death plays itself out from book to book and throughout his extensive revisions.</p>
<p>The last three essays in this collection push beyond the borders of Romanticism in their attempts to trace the trajectory of an idealism without absolutes in later works. John Smyth's ‘Sacrificial and Erotic Materialism in Kierkegaard and Adorno’ (pp. 181–201) reveals the deconstructive forces at play in the aesthetic and ethical components of Kierkegaard's work as well as in <italic>The Concept of Dread</italic>, which Smyth suggests displaces idealism into religion and then mediates religion through psychology into the basis for a form of negative dialectics. In ‘Absolute Failures: Hegel's <italic>Bildung</italic> and the “Earliest System-Program” of German Idealism’ (pp. 203–18), Rebecca Gagan focuses on Hegel and the post-Kantian university, arguing that the work of philosophy, like the work of art, can be seen as aesthetic as evinced by the ambiguities inherent in Hegel's <italic>Aesthetics</italic>. The final essay, Richard Beardsworth's ‘Futures of Spirit: Hegel, Nietzsche, and Beyond’ (pp. 219–39), complicates the idea of relegating idealism to the closure of metaphysics through an exploration of the connections between Hegel's idealism of reason and Nietzsche's materialist genealogy.</p>
<p>Scholars interested in the rich dialogue between literature and science in the Romantic era will want to familiarize themselves with two collections published this year of primary materials on this subject. The first four volumes of Pickering & Chatto's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B20"><italic>Literature and Science, 1660–1834</italic></xref>—<italic>Science as Polite Culture, Sciences of Body and Mind, Earthly Powers</italic>, and <italic>Flora</italic>—were published in 2003; the series was completed when the last four volumes—<italic>Fauna, Astronomy, Natural Philosophy</italic>, and <italic>Chemistry</italic>—were published this year. This significant collection brings together a range of material dating back to the Restoration, which enables scholars to explore the debate on literature's relationship to nature—and, by extension, natural philosophy or science—throughout the long eighteenth century. As the general editor Judith Hawley notes in her introduction to this final instalment, initially in this period, literature and science were perceived as equally important elements of polite learning and considered essentially part of the same project. Yet the perception of the symbiotic relationship between these two disciplines gradually shifted during the eighteenth century and the Romantic period, and eventually disappeared altogether later in the nineteenth century. This collection allows scholars to chart these significant changes.</p>
<p>Volume 5, <italic>Fauna</italic>, edited by David Clifford, demonstrates how mankind's superiority was confirmed by natural science in the beginning of this period, but gradually shifted during the eighteenth century to positioning human beings closer and closer to the animal world. Several texts reproduced in this volume will be of particular interest to Romantic scholars: Charles Bonnet's ‘Experiments on the Reproduction of the Head of the Terrestrial Snail’ ([1799], pp. 257–305); Erasmus Darwin's ‘Zoonomia; or The Laws of Organic Life’ ([1794, 1796], pp. 307–58); Daines Barrington's ‘Experiments and Observations on the Singing of Birds’ ([1791], pp. 359–89); Gilbert White's ‘A Naturalist's Calendar, with Observations in Various Branches of Natural History’ ([1795], pp. 391–427); and Thomas Bewick and Ralph Beilby's ‘History of British Birds’ ([1826], pp. 429–59).</p>
<p>Volume 6, <italic>Astronomy</italic>, edited by Rob Iliffe, explores the ongoing debates and disputes in this period about subjects such as the shape of the earth and the significance of comets, and is essential reading for anyone interested in the connections between eighteenth-century eschatology and astronomy. Works from the Romantic period included in this volume are William Herschel's ‘Catalogue of a Second Thousand of New Nebulae and Clusters of Stars’ ([1789], pp. 307–23) and ‘On the Nature and Construction of the Sun’ ([1795], pp. 324–38); Robert Harrington's ‘A New System on Fire and Planetary Life’ ([1796], pp. 339–67); Adam Walker's ‘An Epitome of Astronomy’ ([1817], pp. 369–89); and John Herschel's ‘Preliminary Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy’ ([1830], pp. 391–409).</p>
<p>Volume 7, <italic>Natural Philosophy</italic>, also edited by Rob Iliffe, reveals the profound changes in scientific theory and practice during this period. Romantic texts on the subject of natural philosophy included here are Richard Fowler's ‘Experiments and Observations relative to the Influence Lately Discovered by M. Galvani, and Commonly Called Animal Electricity’ ([1793], pp. 283–306); William Paley's ‘Natural Theology: or, Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of the Deity, Collected from the Appearances of Nature’ ([1802], pp. 307–46); John Herschel's ‘Preliminary Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy’ ([1830], pp. 347–64); and Charles Babbage's ‘On the Economy of Machinery and Manufactures’ ([1832], pp. 365–408).</p>
<p>The final volume of the series, <italic>Chemistry</italic>, edited by Brian Dolan, traces the trajectory of the perception of chemistry from its somewhat suspect roots as alchemy to its rehabilitation at the end of the eighteenth century as a respectable branch of science. Works in this volume of particular interest to Romanticists include letters exchanged by Erasmus Darwin and Thomas Beddoes ([1793], pp. 187–220); Humphry Davy's ‘A Discourse, Introductory to a Course of Lectures on Chemistry’ ([1802], pp. 233–58) and ‘The Chemical Philosopher’ ([1830], pp. 391–426); as well as several treatises on chemistry by Jane Marcet ([1817], pp. 259–326).</p>
<p>Although too expensive for most individuals, the complete <italic>Literature and Science</italic> series will be a substantial resource for all academic libraries, particularly those without a large collection of historical scientific works. A more affordable alternative, especially for the purposes of teaching, is Nichols, ed., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B36"><italic>William Wordsworth, Charles Darwin and Others: Romantic Natural Histories</italic></xref>, published this year. This paperback edition pairs important—and often hard to find—scientific works with works of literature and nature writing by Romantic authors. <italic>Romantic Natural Histories</italic> reveals an emerging sense of connections among humans, animals, and all living organisms during this period in works by Erasmus Darwin, Blake, Joseph Priestley, Wordsworth, Humphry Davy, Coleridge, Charlotte Smith, Mary and Percy Shelley, and Keats. Nichol's introduction is well written and informative, discussing the historical development of natural history down to the Romantic period, and its spillover into the literature of the age. This book provides an accessible and lively introduction to this important subject, and will be an excellent choice for a teaching edition.</p>
<p>Romanticists will be pleased to note the republication this year of Betty T. Bennett's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B3"><italic>British War Poetry in the Age of Romanticism: 1793–1815</italic></xref> in an electronic format by Romantic Circles <<ext-link ext-link-type="uri" xlink:href="www.rc.umd.edu/editions/warpoetry/">www.rc.umd.edu/editions/warpoetry/</ext-link>>. Originally published by Garland Press in 1976, this collection was prized by several generations of Romanticists before it went out of print. The new electronic edition gives current and future scholars access to this important work. Bennett's original introduction, reproduced in its entirety, provides an essential background to the historical, political, and literary contexts in which these poems were written. As Bennett demonstrates, the stories of the widows, orphans, impressed sailors, and wounded soldiers in these poems are a powerful reminder of the real cost in terms of human suffering and economic loss felt throughout England during its twenty-two years of war with France. The focus in many of these poems on the plight of individuals struggling to survive in these years reveals a heightened awareness of the personal, subjective experience of war. Poems written for both radical and conservative journals and periodicals reflect this shift towards articulating the story of the common man simply and with feeling.</p>
<p>The present interest in examining the connections between Romantic literature and science is apparent in two special issues of journals published this year. Edited by Hermione de Almeida, a special issue of <italic>Studies in Romanticism</italic>, ‘Romanticism and the Sciences of Life’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004]), includes essays from several distinguished literary scholars who have published extensively on this subject. Alan Bewell's ‘Romanticism and Colonial History’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 5–34) opens the collection with a survey of colonial natural history and its place as a discursive site for colonial conceptions and relationships. George Gilpin's ‘William Blake and the World's Body of Science’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 35–6) explores Blake's appropriation of John Hunter's anatomical and implicitly forensic science to advance an integrated and Romantic science of life. Tim Fulford's ‘Conducting the Vital Fluid: The Politics and Poetics of Mesmerism in the 1790s’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 57–78) demonstrates how animal magnetism was inextricably linked in most British minds with France and the French Revolution. In ‘Composing What May Not Be “Sad Trash”: A Reconsideration of Mary Shelley's Use of Paracelsus in <italic>Frankenstein</italic>’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 79–98), Stuart Peterfreund examines the Romantic transformations of Paracelsus's neglected science of affinities in Shelley's novel. In ‘Thoreau, Crystallography, and the Science of the Transparent’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 99–117), Eric G. Wilson investigates Thoreau's representations of ice in order to shed fresh light on his theoretical approach to seeing, nature, and language as well as to illuminate his obsession in <italic>Walden</italic> with ‘transparency’, ‘formation’, and ‘extravagance’. The final essay, de Almeida's ‘Romanticism and the Triumph of Life Science: Prospects for Study’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 119–34), surveys the array of interdisciplinary subjects in Romantic life science that have yet to be given serious scholarly attention, and proposes broad themes as well as specific topics that can be fruitfully explored in the years to come.</p>
<p>‘Natural Knowledge in the Romantic Age: A Collection of Essays’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004]) is the title of the special issue of <italic>The Wordsworth Circle</italic> with a selection of essays presented at the North American Society for the Study of Romanticism (NASSR) meeting in New York City in 2003. As the editor of this collection, Noah Heringman notes that he deliberately chose to substitute ‘Natural Knowledge’ for ‘Science’ in the title for this collection because it was ‘both an official term used to designate the province of the newly chartered Royal Society in 1662 and a scholarly term increasingly favored by historians of science’ (p. 1). David S. Ferris's ‘The Question of a Science: Encyclopedistic Romanticism’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 2–6) suggests that Novalis's understanding of the nature of science positions Romanticism not as a rejection of the Enlightenment but as its radicalization. In ‘Philosophy as Encyclopedia: Hegel, Schelling, and the Organization of Knowledge’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 6–11), Tilottama Rajan investigates the idealist encyclopedia as a subset of the broader “Romantic” encyclopedia, and argues that what is at issue in both is an encyclopedic thinking which discovers that thought cannot be exhausted in a single discipline or form of thought. Anne Janowitz's ‘Adam Smith's Campaign Against the Sublime’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 11–16) suggests that Smith's essay, <italic>The Principles which lead and direct Philosophical Enquiries, illustrated by the History of Astronomy</italic>, produces an aesthetics of the astronomical universe. In ‘Radical Medicine and Romantic Politics’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 16–21), Tim Fulford explores John Wesley's revolutionary use of electricity as a radical therapy, and reveals how, after Wesley, electricity became a weapon to wield, literally and metaphorically, against the power of established authority. Noah Heringman's ‘ “Peter Pindar”, Joseph Banks, and the Case Against Natural History’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 21–30) analyses the series of satires on Banks within the context of the mixed public reaction to his successful fusion of ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture in his work in natural history. Judith Pascoe's ‘The Hummingbird Cabinet’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 30–3) explores the fascination with collecting hummingbirds in the Romantic period as an extension of the Romantic longing for perfect and permanent beauty. In ‘ “A Delicate Empiricism”: Goethe's Science and Wordsworth's “Waterfowl” ’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 33–7), Christina Root argues that Goethe's understanding of himself as a poet and a scientist stemmed from his belief that the two vocations sprang from the same impulse and were in fact analogous—an understanding of the interdependence of philosophy and art that was shared by Wordsworth. The final essay in this collection, Eric G. Wilson's ‘Polar Apocalypse in Coleridge and Poe’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:i[2004] 37–44), examines the Mariner and Pym in <italic>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</italic> [1797] and ‘The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym’ [1838] as representations of the divided psychology of polar exploration, which oscillates between ‘the desire to master the void’ and ‘the yearning to merge with the plenitude’ (p. 37).</p></sec>
<sec id="SEC2"><title>2. Poetry</title>
<sec id="SEC2.1"><title>(a) General</title>
<p>Scholarship on the Romantic period, W.J.T. Mitchell has recently suggested, can act as something of a barometer for wider concerns in the humanities, and the work on poetry produced in 2004 demonstrates this well. There is considerable evidence of the general effort at canon-widening exerting its influence upon those working in the field, with a monumental new edition of Southey's poems, a significant new biography of Crabbe, and an exciting breadth of reference beyond the central figures in monographs and essay collections. The most significant single work of scholarship on the Romantic period, William St Clair's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B48"><italic>The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period</italic></xref>, seeks to reassess reading patterns in the period itself and, in so doing, forces us to revise many of our assumptions about what poetry was read most eagerly and by whom. The impact of work on material culture is felt in important ways, as is the influence of scholarship upon diet, race, and ethnicity, and even animal rights. There is a deeply political cast to much of the work, some of it shading into important issues in intellectual history that ask about the sense of considering the Romantic period apart from the cultural milieu that preceded or followed it. Indeed, work on influence studies more generally, that which asks about both the reading undertaken by Romantic poets and their wider legacy in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, persists keenly. Medicine, madness and the science of mind, and the legacy of travel and exploration were considered topics in research this year, and they impacted too upon work on canonical writers such as Coleridge. Indeed, the central figures were not ignored, with important additions to scholarly editions of Wordsworth and Shelley. Byron studies profited from a long-awaited companion volume for students, and this sits alongside important study aids on Romanticism (employing the widest of definitions) and on Keats and Wordsworth specifically. In what follows, I shall review the general monographs that impact upon the study of Romantic poetry before looking at the various essay collections and articles that contain relevant material. I shall then cover all scholarship that is relevant to the poetry of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, and Keats. Lastly, I will detail the various works that attend to specific poets in the period who have not been covered already, such as Southey, Moore, Crabbe, and Clare.</p>
<p>One of the most extraordinary, indeed moving, studies that impacts upon a central theme governing Romantic ideology is Nancy Yousef 's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B57"><italic>Isolated Cases: The Anxieties of Autonomy in Enlightenment Philosophy and Romantic Literature</italic></xref>. Yousef builds upon the work of Schneewind, Todorov, and Benhabib, which asks about the status of the individual in modernity, to ask how the myth of autonomy ever grew up. How was it that we came to conceive of our selves as autonomous persons, responsible only for our own hard-won emotional well-being, rather than as parented creatures, who exist within a social matrix that constructs that self? Yousef intends to read texts like Wordsworth's <italic>Prelude</italic> as reflections upon the condition of solitariness, aware of their own difficult conceptualizations. Intersubjectivity is the discourse that she seeks to revive, and she does so by examining Wordsworth's own sense of the factitiousness of his project of the growth of the individual mind. There is much in Yousef 's study to interest the Romanticist, and Wordsworth certainly lies at its heart in a key sense. Alongside his version of a socially concerned individualism in tension with something that looks a lot more like egotism is the figure of Rousseau, and it is therefore not surprising that the narrative arc of the book should lead us on to a consideration of, first, Mary Shelley's <italic>Frankenstein</italic> and then John Stuart Mill's <italic>Autobiography</italic>. Nevertheless, the principal antagonist is none of these, but rather Thomas Hobbes, whose vision of the individual's struggle with the inevitability of society gives rise to a hypothesized and atomistic conception of the individual, against which eighteenth-century social theorists variously ranged themselves. Yousef 's clever and controversial thesis is neither that the great statements of liberal Romantic individualism entail a return to Hobbes, nor that they merely build upon anti-Hobbesian sentiment to demonstrate that benevolent-minded individuals create a freer and fairer society in line with the moral sense of Shaftesbury or Hutcheson. Rather, she suggests that the work of Rousseau, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Mill reveals a sense of the ways in which the experience of the individual may be valorized as unique and special, while at the same time presenting that individual as a defender of and dependent upon a social world, which justifies his own scheme of ends.</p>
<p>Yousef 's most keenly argued chapter turns around a reading of Wordsworth's <italic>Prelude</italic>, which she sees, diverging from an early review in <italic>Graham's Magazine</italic>, as not so much consonant with the concerns of Kant, Fichte, and Hegel as attending to two powerful Enlightenment myths of autonomy, the first residing in the natural (Rousseauvian) man, the second in the potential development of the mind in isolation. As such, Yousef's concern is the extent to which the poem is consonant with a tradition traced from Hobbes and Descartes to Rousseau (the subject of the preceding chapter). By reading the poem's anti-chronology as a fortunate failing in the act of autobiography, Yousef intends to demonstrate that Wordsworth is aware of the impossibility of reinventing the self within the poem as a simple being that exists outwith the rhetorical structure of the whole work. Wordsworth hopes, on her account, to make of himself someone whose entire sense of being resides in his creation of a sense of the pressure of external forces upon the self. Personhood may not be dependent upon renouncing the myth of autonomy but it does require that we admit the importance of others, of reciprocity and friendship (and both Dorothy and Coleridge are of course key to the poem's psychological underpinning). Ultimately, Yousef is anxious to describe Wordsworth's acute self-consciousness, and to hold on to the freedom of mind that is stressed is his valorisation of imagination, but she also wants to highlight ‘a moral vacuity at the heart of the idealism about human nature which such myths of autonomy enable’ (p. 145).</p>
<p>A related, if different, but equally subtle and suggestive work, in which the sincerity of apparent self-consciousness in poetry is also well scrutinized is Deborah Forbes's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B15"><italic>Sincerity's Shadow: Self-Consciousness in British Romantic and Mid-Twentieth-Century American Poetry</italic></xref>. In the hands of critics such as Helen Vendler and Harold Bloom, it has long seemed appropriate and even rather telling to take a great deal of twentieth-century American poetry as being within the Romantic tradition, a continuation, albeit critical, of the concerns of canonical poets such as Wordsworth and Shelley. But the later Romantic grouping usually forms itself around Stevens, Ashbery, and Merrill, and the defining preoccupations are with language, scepticism, and subjectivity. Forbes holds on to these themes somewhat, but she casts her net more widely, attending principally to the American tradition that has generally been read as emanating from the late modernism of Eliot, albeit in more confessional mode: Lowell, Berryman, Plath, Rich, Bishop, and Sexton. There is much to be said for juxtaposing key Romantic (or almost Romantic) poets from one national culture—in chapters on Wordsworth, Byron, Keats, and Browning—with clusters of later writers, who can be seen to develop or play around with a mini-genre which the earlier source helps us to identify. But the clever richness of this approach belies its actual ahistoricity, and that may leave some rather more cloth-eared critics complaining. What Forbes achieves at her best is an investigation into the ontology of the modern lyric mode, identifying the habits of staging that appear to have preoccupied poets, their modes of enquiry, and what is fought for, lost, and won in the writing of confessional literature more widely.</p>
<p>Forbes starts out with a sensitive reading of Coleridge's ‘Dejection’, pointing to the narrative thrust of the ode, and suggesting that its psychological force rests on our believing that the crisis to which the poet alludes actually took place in a form to which we could ascribe some certain verity. The question posed is not dissimilar to one around which both John Bayley and Christopher Ricks have played, namely whether a necessary ground for our belief in poetic fiction resides in the poet getting his facts right. Certainly, facts are key here and Forbes alludes to a seminal article of Donald Davie in which the matter of ‘sincerity’ being a useful analytical term in poetic criticism is called into question. If it seems on the whole to be a good thing that a poet writes about the stuff of his life, and if indeed a certain authenticity is adduced as evidence of the power of the emotion narrated, then how do we go about establishing the grounds of our argument? Are we to root around in gossip columns and search for extra-poetic verification? Or look for an expression of raw emotion, something rather unlike the often textured and measured language of a poem? Forbes takes Jerome McGann (for whom the sincerity paradox—that poems can be at once highly artificial <italic>and</italic> expressive of ‘real’ emotional experience—is answered by historicized contextualization) as an antagonist. She seeks to differ as, of course, a moment's thought would suggest she might: the force of Keats's <italic>Belle Dame</italic> does not derive merely from his time spent as an ailing knight. While I’m not sure that McGann isn't rather more lightly subtle in his analysis of the historically situated nature of subjectivity, this does lead Forbes into interesting reflections on the relationship between sincerity and self-consciousness, which would seem to go together hand in glove but which have—within the claims of a postmodernism for whom the very idea of an extra-social, pre-linguistic self is a lie—been simply perceived as the projected shadows of an illusion.</p>
<p>In its final moments Forbes's study makes a suggestion that has been latent from the start, and in which it shows itself to be daringly old-fashioned (in the sense that criticism may, within the scope of a certain scepticism about the very medium that it seeks to analyse, nevertheless make tentative moral claims about the extension of sympathy available in the operation of reading)—it is, as such, the heir to works by both Lionel Trilling and David Perkins. Forbes doesn't quite press for the cure of reading that is present at times in something of the subtext of Wordsworth's Preface to the second edition of <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic>, but she does uphold the strangeness of poetry as its best virtue, a near cousin of Wordsworth and Coleridge's suggestions that poems can at times defamiliarize the ordinary, and within that critical ideology there is the suggestion that the poetic is a different form of knowing from that which may be verified externally by reference to facts and figures, and that it may embody self-consciousness rather more fully than the soulless ice of the looking-glass.</p>
<p>If Forbes and Yousef are seen as approaching the problem of attending to selfhood in Romantic poetry from within the purview of a critical consciousness conditioned by developments in the post-Marxian historicism that has dominated the study of the period for a decade or more, then Scott Masson's rather varied but nevertheless interesting study, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B32"><italic>Romanticism, Hermeneutics and the Crisis of the Human Sciences</italic></xref>, comes at the problem of addressing the possible coherence of a post-Romantic conception of the human from a reading of the Heideggerian tradition. His central figure is arguably Hans-Georg Gadamer, and the problem that Masson attends to has to do with what he sees as the demise of humanism in late modernity. Masson's case is that the human sciences, established in the nineteenth century out of the legacy of the Enlightenment and in a current state of terminal decline, have been gradually assaulted by the very terms of a Romantic project that set out to emancipate the human. This is a pretty doom-laden prospect and has behind it a theologically based critique of the project of Romantic hermeneutics. The key issue, as Masson sees it, lies in the fact that Romantic theorists, a heterogeneous grouping whose key names make up the tradition of modern German hermeneutics (Friedrich Schleiermacher, Wilhelm Dilthey, and Martin Heidegger), sought to uncover universal psychological criteria by which to interpret and evaluate human words and deeds. In so doing, he argues, the traditional theological standard of value was debased, and if a certain universality was won then it was only at great cost. The book begins with an extended reading of the project of Romantic hermeneutics, surveying much of the material that has been covered elsewhere by, among others, Paul Hamilton. There is then a long excursus into the work of Hannah Arendt, in which Masson investigates her interpretation of the Romantic idea of organicism, arguing that the concept of life emerges in her work in much the same way as reason did in the philosophy of the Enlightenment. We are then thrown back into the debate between Wordsworth and Coleridge as it emerges in rival readings of the Preface to <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic> and <italic>Biographia Literaria</italic>. It isn't immediately clear how this particularly relates to the material that has preceded it, but it is locally interesting and provides us with a theological reading of Romantic poetic theory, in which Masson investigates the notion of the legitimacy of the poet in these texts. Coleridge, it turns out, is unlike most of his Romantic contemporaries because, while they seek for a standard of universal human feeling, investing in the concept of a secular imagination, he confronts the question of how the poet can see himself as a prophetic figure if it isn't for the fact that his utterances conform to the dictates of the primary imagination. This is all very well but it doesn't really do much more than repackage Coleridge in his own terms, and Masson is given to providing some pretty fine distinctions that can be baffling: ‘For Coleridge, the question of truth and the question of meaning had a unified answer because Christ, the meaning of life, is the truth, whereas for Wordsworth “life”—a circular term that never receives a definition—was that truth that was meaningful.’ In the final chapters, Masson turns his attention to Shelley and Keats, reading <italic>Mont Blanc</italic> and the Grecian Urn ode respectively. These are really discrete chapters whose relation to the matter of hermeneutics and the human sciences is tenuous to say the least. They are lengthy surveys of the criticism on both poems, which is obviously extensive, and each turns to some extent around the affective role of silence in them, the subject of the thesis from which this study derives.</p>
<p>The importance of reading for affects and emotions in the critical task of decoding the political and historical resonances of Romantic poetry is a subject treated with intelligence by Kevis Goodman in her <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B19"><italic>Georgic Modernity and British Romanticism: Poetry and the Mediation of History</italic></xref>. Goodman is at pains to tell us that this is not simply a survey study of the georgic in Romantic poetry but rather a focused engagement with the role of history in a body of writing that builds upon the matter of Virgil's bucolic poetry. In fact, it isn't much concerned with Romantic poetry at all for much of the time, turning only at the end (if rather dazzlingly) to Wordsworth's <italic>Excursion</italic> (a poem that appears to have made a comeback in recent years) after long chapters on the eighteenth-century topographical tradition in Thomson's <italic>Seasons</italic> and Cowper's <italic>The Task</italic>. The theoretical framework within which Goodman is working is set out early on, and it is at times so nuanced as to seem like a discrete and rather private dialogue between scions of Geoffrey Hartman, whose presence lurks quietly behind the book. Alan Liu's thesis, that the georgic mode is employed by Romantic writers in order to bury history in nature, is the political starting point for a discussion that incorporates Raymond Williams (once a familiar figure in this CUP series) and Frederic Jameson, whose notorious apophthegm ‘History is what hurts’ is used by Goodman to clear the ground for her essential thesis that historic presentness is often ‘turned up’ by the georgic mode as the unpleasurable feeling of sensory discomfort. This much seems very interesting and plausible, but when Goodman modifies the thesis further it starts to look rather more complicated and, dare I say it, obscure. She worries at the question of whether there can be pre-ideational feelings, announcing: ‘I would like to dilate and give a literary prehistory to the insight, lurking in the formulations of Williams, Liu, Jameson, as well as Simpson, that some sort of affect or cognitive dissonance registers those unfixed elements of history that elude or exceed the Lockean idea’ (p. 8). An unease with a sense of the past, or the burden of history as it emerges as half-articulated or dissonant cognitive clamour: this, I take it, is the matter at which Goodman is looking, but it isn't quite clear why this should be uniquely revealed in the clashing of long poems from the eighteenth century or the Romantic period with ‘rival media, or pathways of perception and communication’, rather than, say, in the affective stammering that might be produced by a visit to a site of Nazi genocide, nor indeed what that quoted phrase could possibly exclude. Fortunately, when she turns to the poems themselves, her readings are far less encumbered by complexities of critical diction. The longest chapter, on Wordsworth's <italic>Excursion</italic>, is splendid and should, along with the earlier work of Alison Hickey, send readers back to that poem. Wordsworth was of course the translator of Virgil's <italic>Georgics</italic> and she makes the reasonable case that it is in the later long poem, rather than in <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic> or even <italic>The Prelude</italic>, that the influence of that work emerges most strongly. Allied to this is a sense of <italic>The Excursion</italic> as a work that deals explicitly with the past, as one of almost experimental historiography, thereby returning us to the formative Virgilian scene of the farmer at the furrow, engaged in the matter of the past. In a footnote to the introduction, Goodman picks up on the use of the word ‘medium’ in a phrase of David Simpson where he is describing Wordsworthian subjectivity, and in the last chapter she returns to this word, suggesting that, although it hadn't yet taken on its later meaning as a term in spiritualism, nevertheless Wordsworth himself gestures towards it when he describes the epitaph as a medium for reanimating the dead. It is exactly this reanimation of the past, and specifically the labour of recovering it, that Goodman investigates in relation to the poem, using the theme of labour as a means to discuss suffering and the loss of affect. Her discussion ranges widely, referencing Freud and Benjamin, and it builds towards a final, fascinating comparison between Isaac D’Israeli's <italic>Dissertation on Anecdotes</italic> and <italic>The Excursion</italic>, in which anecdotal history is privileged over Humean distance since the former relies upon the generation of emotion and association, a tapestry of related stories that serves as a historiographical model for Wordsworth himself.</p>
<p>The other work that emerged from the series Cambridge Studies in Romanticism was <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B38"><italic>Romanticism and Animal Rights</italic></xref> by David Perkins, and rather more obliquely this also approached the subject of emotion in Romantic writing, though it is a pretty jargon-free and comparatively old-fashioned survey of the subject. Perkins begins with the observation that a number of key topoi in Romantic thought—sentiment, sympathy, nature, and feeling—are present too in the discourse surrounding our relationships with the various members of the animal kingdom. The range of poets and writers in the period who reference animals in their work is pretty startling: Robert Burns, William Cowper, Christopher Smart, Thomas Day, Sarah Trimmer, John Aikin, Anna Letitia Barbauld, William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Clare, and Charles Lamb (the final quartet being the real heroes of this book). Beginning with Burns's lovely ‘To a Mouse’, Perkins gives us a detailed and impressive history of human–animal relations in the century before Darwin, looking at debates about the ontology of the animal, at the nascent naturalist movement, and at the influence of Quakers, Methodists, and Nonconformists in debates about cruelty to animals, referring us to Bewick and Hogarth (in particular <italic>The Stages of Cruelty</italic>) in the visual arts, as well as a host of other writers. The book then moves through various aspects of the subject, tying specific themes to individual authors. There is a chapter on the keeping of animals as pets, which looks at the writing of William Cowper. Meanwhile, debates about hunting and then badger-baiting and cock-fighting are revealed in poems by Wordsworth (‘Hart-Leap Well’ and <italic>Home at Grasmere</italic>) and John Clare respectively. The study then turns to the exploitation of animals for both work and food, and Coleridge's rather callow poem ‘To a Young Ass’ [1794] is employed to open up the former, while Lamb's ‘Dissertation upon Roast Pig’ takes us into the kitchen and allows Perkins his most frivolous moment: ‘If one's name is Lamb, does one relish a lamb chop less or more? Presumably neither. Most Lambs (Salmons, Trouts, Veals, etc.) are not affected by the pun at all, especially at dinner’ (p. 119). The last little chapter is perhaps the most suggestive for the student of Romantic poetry, dealing as it does with the genre of the bird poem. Perkins concludes that the nightingale in the hands of Coleridge is a metaphor for human desire grounded in the real, but as birds like Shelley's skylark soar ever higher into the immaterial they become nothing more than projections of the human, and thus exalted they can't be objects of compassion or fellow feeling, still less of independent value.</p>
<p>One of the most stimulating monographs to appear in 2004 was William Keach's long-awaited <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B26"><italic>Arbitrary Power: Romanticism, Language, Politics</italic></xref>. This follows up his now seminal work on Shelley's style and Romantic theories of language more generally, only it does so from a far more politically engaged standpoint. Keach seeks to investigate the intersection between linguistic and political agency, and the possibility that apparently arbitrary language use can contain discreet political content. He begins with a reflection on the war cantos in Byron's <italic>Don Juan</italic>, attending to the way in which the rhetorical and stylistic texture of the language enforces and colludes with the apparent political agenda of the poet's swiping at the Crown, summoning the word revolution (apparently uniquely in his poetry) to rhyme with ‘Hell's pollution’. This kind of clever political and aesthetic attention to poetry is characteristic of the project as a whole, as Keach looks for the ‘convergence of pronouncements about language with representations of the political, and both of these with salient stylistic conventions, gestures, experiments’ (p. x). His opening chapter, the title piece, returns to the ground of deconstructive work on Romanticism by investigating further the issue of arbitrariness in linguistic signification, and here Shelley is again central, especially as far as he is seen to revise the Lockean theory of signs. Keach is keen to demonstrate that in Romantic writing it is not language alone that has arbitrary power, however, and that the operation of political force is also uncertain, random, and capricious. His book ends with a reading of the language of revolutionary violence in the poetry of the period which focuses most keenly on Blake, but before that there are outstanding chapters in which Coleridge, Wordsworth, Byron, Keats, and, most especially, Shelley feature prominently. Two related chapters uncover first the politics of rhyme in Keats's poetry, looking at the Cockney rhyming compound epithets of the Hunt circle that were so savaged in the Tory press, and then the opposition between urbanity and vulgarity in Shelley. The latter starts out from a comment of Donald Davie in <italic>The Purity of Diction in English Verse</italic> to the effect that Shelley's <italic>Julian and Maddalo</italic> reveals his middle style, one in which he is showcasing his ability to write and indeed act with civilized decorum. Keach pushes this far with the help of Bourdieu to ask about the poles of civilization and vulgarity in a historicized Romantic literary scene. Perhaps the best chapter, however, is one that treads on the margins of Romantic thing theory, building upon some famous remarks of Coleridge in a letter to William Godwin in 1800: ‘Is <italic>Thinking</italic> impossible without arbitrary signs? … I would endeavour to destroy the old antithesis of <italic>Words</italic> & <italic>Things</italic>, elevating, as it were words into Things, & living Things too’ (pp. 23–4). Keach points out that this mutually dependent dyad crops up all over the place in Romantic writing, not least in the poetry of Byron, where in <italic>Don Juan</italic> the living texture of the language serves to dramatize his determination that ‘words are things’. He goes on to look at the role of things and materiality more widely in the writing of the period, exploring an interesting opposition between ideas and things that is almost omnipresent and especially so in Wordsworth, for whom books are at once ‘Things that aspire’ and material objects about which he is supremely anxious.</p>
<p>Materiality is also the focus of Noah Heringman's fascinating and deeply researched study, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B21"><italic>Romantic Rocks, Aesthetic Geology</italic></xref>, in which he asks why rocks, mountains, and stone more generally are so prominent in Romantic poetry. Heringman's interesting thesis, a kind of historicized aesthetics, is that Romanticism emerges in its theoretical guise at exactly the same time as geology was created as a science, the two being shaped by similar cultural forces—the outdoor activity of the scenic tour, landscape gardening, the development of natural history, and broad speculation about the earth—which also condition the literary culture of the time. The consequences of this are manifold, but one paradox that Heringman highlights is that in a period in which acts of elevated imagination and the mental transport of the sublime are upheld as the supreme capacity of man, the objects in the material world that often come to be most highly prized as aesthetic commodities are mere rocks. For the purposes of this article, the key texts in the first half of the book are Shelley's <italic>Mont Blanc</italic> and Wordsworth's ‘Resolution and Independence’, and the central affect that Heringman is keen to describe is that of wonder as it is figured as a response to the natural world. Heringman reminds us of the place of rude stone in one of the most notable descriptions of aesthetic response in the period, Keats standing before the Elgin Marbles, as this serves as a <italic>locus classicus</italic> for comparison with other moments of arrested wonderment such as that of Wordsworth's poem, which he contextualizes alongside Lyell and the nature philosophy that was so prevalent in contemporary Germany. There is an interesting chapter on Blake and the idea of petrifaction in the period, before, in the final chapters of the book, Heringman turns his attention to the construction of scenic wonder as a popular cultural phenomenon.</p>
<p>Another book that seeks to uncover both the omnipresence of a widespread culturally constructed phenomenon as well as its discrete influence upon specific poets is Antonella Briada's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B7"><italic>Dante and the Romantics</italic></xref>, which is an attempt to explore the reception history of Dante more completely than any previous study, and also a delineation of the differing impact that Dante had upon the work of Shelley, Blake, and Keats. As such, the book never seems quite sure whether it is a piece of cultural history or a study of distinct lines of influence. The Dante that emerges is first and foremost a figure whose British afterlife was incredibly varied, impacting upon debates about physiognomy in the visual arts, emerging in arguments about the theory of translation, and popping up in Romantic criticism, perhaps most notably for the Dantean popularizer, Coleridge, for whom the <italic>Paradiso</italic> represented the highest fusion of philosophy and theology, a model to which Christian poets should aspire. Dominant in this first part is the figure of Henry Francis Cary, the translator of Dante, and it is from this version that Keats knew the poet in a copy given to him by Leigh Hunt. In a fairly conventional overview of Dantean resonances in Keats's poetry, Briada makes the case for his influence on Keats, and suggests that it was productive rather than overweening, as was Milton's. She focuses her discussion on the <italic>Hyperion</italic> poems. Comfortably the best part of the book, and that around which one senses that the rest was written, is the central chapter on Shelley. Briada uncovers Shelley's early contact with the poetry of Dante, a poet whom he valorizes highly in the <italic>Defence</italic>, and she goes on to suggest that two of his greatest works, ‘The Triumph of Life’ and ‘Epipsychidion’, are later acts of assimilation both of the language of Dante and, more daringly, of his philosophy, diverging in so doing from the arguments of Bloom and Abrams, who have seen Shelley's last tragic vision as a travesty of the <italic>Divina commedia</italic>.</p>
<p>In terms of general books that have a bearing upon the study of Romantic poetry, there is one further title worth mentioning, which is Judith Page's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B37"><italic>Imperfect Sympathies: Jews and Judaism in British Romantic Literature and Culture</italic></xref>. Most of this book deals with matters beyond the purview of this section: the representation of Shylock on the Romantic stage, the depiction of Jews in the Romantic novel, and the record of them in travel narratives of the time. However, in drawing attention to Judith Montefiore and Hyman Hurwitz she does lend some context to Byron's <italic>Hebrew Melodies</italic>; furthermore, she both uses Wordsworth's Preface to <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic>, with its arguments for the advancement of human benevolence through literature, as a platform from which to launch her argument about the triumph and failure of sympathy in contemporary writing about Jews and writes most interestingly about his experience of seeing Jews during the 1828 Rhineland tour, an experience that contributed to the poem, ‘A Jewish Family’.</p>
<p>Besides Page's monograph, work on ethnic difference and British Romantic poetry was pretty thin on the ground in 2004, but no Romantic year would be complete without a book on its Celtic fringes, and this was amply provided by Davis, Duncan, and Sorensen, eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B10"><italic>Scotland and the Borders of Romanticism</italic></xref>. The rather heterogeneous material gathered here mostly falls outside the confines of this section, but it is worth mentioning if only to flag up the collection's intelligent programme of contesting, rather than emphasizing, the division between the Scottish Enlightenment and British Romanticism. Historicism, antiquarianism, and Orientalism are all examined well, and contribute to the collection's aim of rethinking the national and period boundaries that have traditionally been used to construct our literary history. Especially notable contributions are those of Cairns Craig, who seeks to re-examine the famously testy relationship of Coleridge with Scottish thought and Hume in particular, and Peter Manning, who continues his project of breathing new critical life into Wordsworth's ‘Yarrow Revisited’, with an excellent piece that sets the writings of his late tour in Scotland against his reading of Cobbett.</p>
<p>Two collections by divers hands investigated the themes of mental and physical illness from the point of view of the Romantics’ influence on later writers. The first of these is Faflak and Wright, eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B13"><italic>Nervous Reactions: Victorian Recollections of Romanticism</italic></xref>. The governing thesis of the editors is that Victorian responses to the Romantic period were often conditioned by the common theme of constructing the time as one in which authors and readers were highly prone to excitable or nervous affects at odds with the Victorian values of restraint and moderation. Such responses, the editors suggest, were seen as threatening to the social order and in need of a curative treatment. The collection touches upon a number of key figures (Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley, and, especially, Byron), the most relevant contribution being by Timothy Wandling, ‘Early Romantic Theorists and the Fate of Transgressive Eloquence: John Stuart Mill's Response to Byron’. This sets up an opposition between Byron and Mill: the latter rejected a politicized poetics of affect, in which readers are driven to response by the recognition of injustice. Wandling contributes interestingly to the literature about Byron's afterlife in the nineteenth century, a decisive period in which, as he shows, persistent critique emanated from figures other than Carlyle and Taylor. Saunders and Macnaughton, eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B46"><italic>Madness and Creativity in Literature and Culture</italic></xref>, is, as its title suggests, incredibly broad in its overview, seeking to examine the broad relationship between mental illness and creativity in literature from the Middle Ages to the present day. Still, this is popularly assumed to be a central theme in Romantic writing, as was evinced some years ago by Frederick Burwick, and the contribution dealing with Romantic poetry does not disappoint. Michael O’Neill's ‘ “Why then ile fit you”: Poetry and Madness from Wordsworth to Berryman’ is something of a survey article and is very impressive work. The allusion of the title is itself a reference to one of Eliot's allusions in <italic>The Waste Land</italic>, remembering a phrase of Hieronimo before the play within a play in Kyd's <italic>Spanish Tragedy</italic>, and it is the later poet who stands at the centre of this chapter, a bridge between the canon of American poets whom he discusses and the Romantic loci: the maniac of <italic>Julian and Maddalo</italic>, John Clare's ‘I Am’, and Wordsworth's ‘The Mad Mother’.</p>
<p>A very different purchase on the Romantic period can be taken from Morton, ed., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B34"><italic>Cultures of Taste/Theories of Appetite: Eating Romanticism</italic></xref>, which is an absolutely fascinating undertaking in up-to-the-minute cultural theory, showing that diet studies can encompass a host of related (and apparently unrelated) critical discourses, including philosophy, history, and the study of race, class, and gender as well, indeed, as poetry. On the face of it, this collection is about the ways in which writers in the period incorporated material relating to food into their work, but the range of reference is astounding: Hegel and Kant sit rather implausibly alongside William Ireland and Charlotte Smith. A number of the contributions make mention of Romantic poets. Nicholas Roe, writing in the aftermath of the foot and mouth epidemic, discusses Wordsworth's contribution to the national park movement, while both Tim Fulford and Peter Kitson mention Byron's <italic>The Island</italic> alongside discussions of race and otherness in travel writing of the period. The horrible cannibalism of Byron's <italic>Don Juan</italic> was bound to make him a candidate for discussion in such a collection, and one of the most sparkling essays is ‘Byron's World of Zest’ by Jane Stabler, who contributes to the new formalism, as she describes it, by encouraging us to give ground to critics such as Richard Cronin and Susan Wolfson in admitting a renewed Romantic aesthetics of sensory pleasure (and indeed disgust) as an especially relevant tool for contextualizing Byron's writing about food. The other central poet that springs to mind when thinking about eating in the period is Keats, and he is the subject of two more splendid essays by Denise Gigante, who builds upon Ricks to read the poet alongside Sartre's <italic>Nausea</italic>, and Arkady Plotnitsky, whose reading of the <italic>Hyperion</italic> poems with Shelley's <italic>Triumph of Life</italic> dwells heavily upon the seminal essay on the latter by Paul de Man.</p>
<p>There were two very important study guides to the Romantic period published in 2004, and both have significant contributions on the subject of its poetry. The first is Roe, ed., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B43"><italic>Romanticism: An Oxford Guide</italic></xref>, which is part of an already distinguished series and contains forty-six discrete articles, many of which are destined to become the initial point of reference for students coming to the subject for the first time. It is in four parts, the first of which deals with broad contextual categories, most of which will be useful to those looking to understand the kinds of themes around which critics have come to construct Romantic studies. Especially worthy of mention are pieces by the following: Fiona Stafford, on the various national cultures that comprise British Romanticism; Bruce Graver, on the classical inheritance; John Barnard, on the book trade; Christoph Bode, on the relations with Europe, and Susan Manning, on the reputation of British poets in America. Kenneth Johnston, James McKusick, and Richard Cronin are worth mentioning from the second section on critical schools such as new historicism, ecology, and formalism. In the third section, on genres and forms, many of the chapters have an important bearing on the study of Romantic poetry. Particularly noteworthy are pieces by Michael O’Neill on forms, David Fairer on the sonnet, Paul D. Sheats on the lyric, and Lynda Pratt on the epic. The last section contains articles that suggest the extent of Romanticism's broad heritage in all kinds of areas. I would point readers towards those by Marilyn Gaull on science, Seamus Perry on literary criticism, Timothy Morton on environmentalism, and Charles J. Rzepka on the afterlife of poetry. The other major contribution to the student-friendly market is an addition to the Cambridge Companion series: Keymer and Mee, eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B28"><italic>The Cambridge Companion to English Literature 1740–1830</italic></xref>. This contains a series of excellent introductions to the Lake school by Paul Magnuson, to the second generation by Greg Kucich, and to ‘John Clare and the Traditions of Labouring-Class Verse’ by John Goodridge and Bridget Keegan.</p>
<p>There were three general articles on Romantic poetry published in 2004 that are worth mentioning. Two are by Seamus Perry. ‘The Romantic Matter of Fact’ (<italic>TWC</italic> 35[2004] 103–7) is an exploration of the observation by Coleridge that there is often a certain matter-of-factness to much of Wordsworth's poetry, and it seeks to contribute to the critical discourse on thing theory that has been opened up in recent years by critics such as Bill Brown and Mary Poovey by asking about the extent to which Romantic poets more generally were concerned with facts in the mess of the real rather than ideas in the tidy mind. The impetus for Perry's article is, to some extent, to be found as well in the work of John Bayley and Christopher Ricks, especially in the latter's interesting essay on literature and the matter-of-fact, to which Perry pays tribute in his title. The other article, significant to readers aiming to situate Romantic studies within a tradition of scholarship that stretches back over half a century in its present guise, is ‘New Impressions VII: <italic>The Mirror and the Lamp</italic>’ (<italic>EIC</italic> 54[2004] 260–82), one of a series of reappraisals being published by <italic>Essays in Criticism</italic>, which argues for the centrality of M.H. Abrams's book as one of the most important essays on Romanticism to date. Karen Weisman's ‘The Bounds of Lyric: Romantic Grasps upon the Actual’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 343–9) is an outstanding, if somewhat cursory, exploration of the place of the thing in Romantic poetry which bears comparison with Perry's article and which plays around interestingly with Martin Heidegger's influential work on the importance of objects to our conception of the human.</p>
<p>I should now like to turn to work produced in 2004 that centres on individual authors, beginning with Wordsworth. The most important single volume produced in the year was Jackson, ed., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B24"><italic>Sonnet Series and Itinerary Poems, 1820–1845</italic></xref>. Wordsworth, of course, produced many sonnets that are not included in this volume, and the task of the reviewer is first one of description. Few could take exception with the verdict of <italic>Choice</italic>, that ‘The Cornell Wordsworth is one of the great scholarly enterprises of our time’, but the texts of his poems can seem rather entombed within the enormous apparatus that is included in some of the volumes, which in some cases stretch out a few manuscript pages into several hundred, with innumerable drafts and transcriptions. This volume does not suffer from this problem especially badly. In fact, the decision by the general editor that, Wordsworth's earlier sonnets having already been included in various specific volumes, there should be one single edition of all his significant later works in that genre ensures that we are faced with a work that is bursting at the seams. Herein we find eight collections of poems, most of which are sonnet sequences, the most important being <italic>The River Duddon</italic>, a topographical collection based upon an imagined journey, <italic>Yarrow Revisited, and Other Poems</italic>, which celebrates a Scottish tour in a group of poems, all but three of which are sonnets, and <italic>Ecclesiastical Sketches</italic>, a vast undertaking in historical imagination that has long been the test-case in the love of Wordsworth. The editor admits that his feelings for this late body of work were initially bordering upon ambivalence but have grown into admiration, and turning to the remaining material one can't help but wonder whether that later affect is somewhat grudging. <italic>Memorials of a Tour of the Continent, 1820</italic> records an actual tour interestingly, mostly in sonnet form; <italic>Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1833</italic> and <italic>Memorials of a Tour in Italy</italic> are purely topographical, while <italic>Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death</italic> and <italic>Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty and Order</italic> are short, somewhat politically driven, and provide the reader with an insight into the social concerns of the later Wordsworth. The edition reprints the relevant Fenwick notes, which are intriguing, and includes expert annotations and textual details. In spite of the inevitable reservations that one must have about the uneven quality of a lot of this writing, it is to be hoped that this edition will send readers back to this body of largely ignored work.</p>
<p>The only collection of the year that is exclusively devoted to Wordsworth is Barfoot, ed., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B1"><italic>‘A Natural Delineation of Human Passions’: The Historic Moment of Lyrical Ballads</italic></xref>. This is a rather uneven collection, which comes (somewhat late in the day) out of the publishing-fest that followed the bicentenary of the publication of <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic>. Remembering a phrase from the Advertisement, it seeks to recover the historical climate that greeted Wordsworth and Coleridge's seminal volume. Barfoot's own contribution goes a long way towards convincing us that Wordsworth may have had the arguments (and indeed the physical paper) of <italic>The Anti-Jacobin</italic> to hand when he revisited the Wye in preparation for ‘Tintern Abbey’. The other contributions that are worth mentioning are those of Timothy Webb, who surveys the rather elusive presence of that first edition of <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic> in the poetry of the second generation, examining especially Keats's knowledge of it, and a series of essays by Suzanne E. Webster (on Coleridge), Annemarie Estor, and, in particular, an excellent contribution by Daniel Sanjiv Roberts, which explore the role of the supernatural and science in the poems. The best of these essays concludes that the ambivalence both poets felt towards the project of Romantic science contributed to the creative role that they ascribed to poetry. A useful short student introduction, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B5"><italic>Wordsworth and Coleridge: Lyrical Ballads</italic></xref>, by John Blades, emerged in 2004 from the Palgrave Analysing Texts series. It includes short readings of each of the poems, grouping them into clusters around obvious themes (the imagination, old age, social issues, etc.). The second half of the book provides students with approachable summaries of critical issues and sound-bites from major critics (Richards, Hartman, de Man). The latter are both critics adduced by Kurt Fosso in support of his study, the sole monograph on the poet, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B16"><italic>Buried Communities: Wordsworth and the Bonds of Mourning</italic></xref>. Beginning, in the introduction, with a reading of ‘We Are Seven’, this is a comprehensive attempt to deal with the themes of death, burial, and epitaphic memorial in Wordsworth. It employs a more socially conscious perspective than similar studies of elegy and epitaph from the period of deconstruction, and indeed the role of the community and the social power of mourning are aspects of the subject explored in readings of his very earliest Cambridge poems via <italic>An Evening Walk</italic> to the Salisbury Plain poems. The heart of the study lies in impressive readings of <italic>The Ruined Cottage, Lyrical Ballads</italic>, and the Five-Book <italic>Prelude</italic>. In the final chapter, Fosso also contributes to the rehabilitation of <italic>The Excursion</italic>, reading its sense of community alongside the important works of <italic>Poems, in Two Volumes</italic>.</p>
<p>There were a number of significant articles published on Wordsworth in 2004. Stephen Gill's ‘ “Meditative Morality”: Wordsworth and Samuel Daniel’ (<italic>RES</italic> 55[2004] 565–82) examines the role of Daniel in <italic>The Excursion</italic> and suggests that a reading of his <italic>Musophilius</italic> may have contributed to Wordsworth's defensive posture after the failure of <italic>Poems, in Two Volumes</italic> by strengthening the conviction that the poet must armour himself against public hostility. There were a number of articles about obscure poems by Wordsworth, including Timothy Morton's ‘Wordsworth Digs the Lawn’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 317–27), and Alan G. Hill's ‘Wordsworth and the Émigré French Clergy, 1790–1827’ (<italic>RES</italic> 55[2004] 60–4) about the sonnet ‘Emigrant French Clergy’. Another article of Hill's deals with Wordsworth's relationship with Jeffrey, ‘Wordsworth and Jeffrey: The Last Phase, with Unwelcome Interventions from Two of the Poet's Admirers’ (<italic>RES</italic> 55[2004] 718–26). Duncan Wu asks us to consider the errors of the editorial policy of the Cornell Wordsworth, and points out that they have never adequately considered the ontology of the fragment, in ‘Editing Wordsworth's Fragments’ (<italic>EIC</italic> 54[2004] 1–17). Two articles reconsidered ‘Michael’ in rather different ways. Charles J. Rzepka's prize-winning ‘Sacrificial Sites, Place-Keeping, and “Pre-History” in Wordsworth's “Michael” ’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 205–13) is a short but highly stimulating piece that engages with stones in Wordsworth's poetry, attending to the Druid past and the growth of archaeological science. Sung-Joong Kim's longer article, ‘Beyond New Historicism: Adorno and Wordsworth’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 463–80), is, as the title suggests, much given over to the rather heavy weather of Adorno, and she suggests that his thesis that the ugly may be incorporated into art as a unconscious indicator of social malaise is played out in the movement in ‘Michael’ from country to city. A splendid related article is John Turner's ‘ “Hauntings from the infirmity of love”: Wordsworth and the Illusion of Pastoral’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 623–51). Turner begins with the interesting observation that Wordsworth revised the ‘fond delusion’ of the 1807 Elegiac Stanzas into a ‘fond illusion’ of 1815. He goes on to discuss this key Romantic opposition, seeking to rehabilitate the concept of illusion as a curious and intriguing belief-state by appealing first to Freud and then to Rycroft, Milner, and Winnicott. In the final parts of the article, Turner explores Wordsworth's own diagnosis of the condition of illusion in poems such as ‘The Brothers’ and ‘Michael’. A similarly psychoanalytic stance is to be found in Eugene Stelzig's interesting article ‘Wordsworth's Bleeding Spots: Traumatic Memories of the Absent Father in <italic>The Prelude</italic>’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 533–45), while the refusal of Whitman to acknowledge the influence of Wordsworth is addressed by D.J. Moores in ‘ “Gangs of Kosmos and prophets en masse”: The Cosmic Poetics of Wordsworth and Whitman’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 95–111).</p>
<p>Scholarship on Coleridge's poetry this year was limited to parts of two monographs on the poet, both of which dealt in different ways with his ill health, and a handful of articles. Neil Vickers's monograph <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B50"><italic>Coleridge and the Doctors, 1795–1806</italic></xref> is a very rich resource, magnificently researched. He asks about Coleridge's medical knowledge during the period 1795 to 1806 and suggests that a serious knowledge of and engagement with the tradition of philosophical medicine at that time contributed to the development of Coleridge's critical thought. This is an extremely fertile book from the point of view of thick cultural description, and we learn an enormous amount about the context of Romantic medical science in the 1790s. The key figure to emerge is probably Thomas Beddoes of Bristol, but there is much about others, including Humphrey Davy, Erasmus Darwin, and Thomas Wedgwood. There is a good deal of new insight into the specifics of Coleridge's illness in the period and his self-diagnoses, treatment with opium, and the disastrous personal consequences. For the student of his poetry, the most important chapters come late in the book, on ‘Dejection’ and ‘The Pains of Sleep’ respectively. Eric G. Wilson, in <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B55"><italic>Coleridge's Melancholia: An Anatomy of Limbo</italic></xref>, chooses to confront the other end of Coleridge's career, the part that has generally been seen as a decline into depression and stultified creative gloom. Of course, this is a popular conception rather than an academic truism. At any gathering of Coleridge scholars there will be just as much, if not more, talk about the last quarter-century of his life as about any other. But there is nevertheless the common consensus that in no aspect of his life was Coleridge quite as successful as he might have been. Wilson takes as his starting-point three works that have done much to rehabilitate Coleridge's reputation in spite of his failing fully to complete the task in hand: Seamus Perry's <italic>Coleridge and the Uses of Division</italic>, Richard Holmes's <italic>Coleridge: Darker Reflections</italic>, and Morton Paley's <italic>Coleridge's Later Poetry</italic>. Following the suggestion of Holmes, in particular, that Coleridge achieved as much as can reasonably be expected during this period in the fields of philosophy, criticism, theology, and indeed as a poet, Wilson turns the darkness of one of his most famous late poems, ‘Limbo’, into a productive trope through which to read his later career. The result is a rather delightful, if slightly bizarre, modern-day anatomy of melancholy, which, through a series of short sub-chapters, takes us into the following Coleridgean micro-histories: his failure to finish work; his illnesses; his reading of quirky figures in the history of ideas; his thoughts about Hamlet; and his connections with other Romantics and with writers who came long after Coleridge but with whom resonances may be found, such as Herman Melville, Søren Kierkegaard, and James Merrill.</p>
<p>One of the best articles on Coleridge published this year addresses itself to the opposite affect in his writing. Adam Potkay's ‘Coleridge's Joy’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 107–13) is a contribution to emotion theory and focuses on the opposition in his critical writing between ideas and things. Matthew Vanwinkle returns to the issue of revision in Coleridge's <italic>Sibylline Leaves</italic> volume in ‘Fluttering on the Grate: Revision in “Frost at Midnight” ’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 583–98), while Eugene Stelzig addresses himself to the close relationship between Coleridge and Mary Robinson in ‘ “Spirit Divine! With Thee I’ll Wander”: Mary Robinson and Coleridge in Poetic Dialogue’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 118–22), and Lynda Pratt uncovers a different and more troubled relationship through some unpublished letters in the Bristol Library from Joseph Cottle to Robert Southey: ‘The “Sad Habits” of Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Unpublished Letters from Joseph Cottle to Robert Southey, 1813–1817’ (<italic>RES</italic> 55[2004] 75–90). Tim Fulford explores the role of the mesmeric gaze in <italic>Christabel</italic> and <italic>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</italic>, and Coleridge's interest in animal magnetism more widely, in ‘Conducting the Vital Fluid: The Politics and Poetics of Mesmerism in the 1790s’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 57–78), while William A. Ulmer revisits the doctrine of necessity in a very comprehensive reading of the latter poem: ‘Necessary Evils: Unitarian Theodicy in “The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere” ’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 327–55). Two articles dealt with Coleridge's influence upon later Romantics: Michelle Levy, in ‘Discovery and the Domestic Affections in Coleridge and Shelley’ (<italic>SEL</italic> 44[2004] 693–713), argues that domestic affections operate in the period, and in the work of both writers, as a way of restraining the emotional excesses of curiosity, an affect that leads to the uncertainty of travel and disappearance into the Gothic unknown. Nicholas Halmi, in ‘How Coleridge Was Wilder than Byron’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 144–57), also looks into the supernatural in both poets, and through a clever reconstruction of their rival epistemological frameworks suggests that Byron had far less invested in the supernatural than Coleridge, and indeed less use for it than we may assume.</p>
<p>Work on both Byron and Shelley in 2004 was sadly limited. The long-awaited <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B6"><italic>Cambridge Companion to Byron</italic></xref>, edited by Drummond Bone, emerged and is very welcome. It covers historical contexts such as Byron's relationship to questions of gender and sexuality (Andrew Elfenbein) and the biography industry that grew up around Byron (Paul Douglass). Then there is a series of essays introducing the various genres of Byron's heterogeneous achievement. Especially worth noting are pieces by Nigel Leask on Byron's writing about the Ottoman world and Susan Wolfson on <italic>The Vision of Judgment</italic>. It is also interesting to see that an essay by Andrew Nicholson is included, on Byron's prose. The final section has some splendid contributions on literary context: Anne Barton on Byron and Shakespeare; Bernard Beatty on Byron and the eighteenth century; Jane Stabler on Byron and postmodernity. It is worth mentioning in passing that one of the contributors, Paul Douglass, published <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B12"><italic>Lady Caroline Lamb: A Biography</italic></xref> this year, which contains an excellent chapter on Byron, and further material besides relating to him. Two excellent essays were published on <italic>Don Juan</italic>. Eric Strand's ‘Byron's Don Juan as a Global Allegory’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 503–36) is a complex and detailed reading of the economics of that poem, and he goes on to explore Byron's own symbolic status in Greece. Susan J. Wolfson, meanwhile, in ‘<italic>Don Juan</italic> in New York’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 131–43; also discussed in <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC5">Section 5</xref> below), traces out the stage history of a melodrama from the 1820s that played in New York and popularized the Haidee episodes for an audience that apparently enjoyed its complicated sexual politics.</p>
<p>The most important work to emerge in Shelley studies this year was the second volume of Reiman and Fraistat, eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B42"><italic>The Complete Poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley</italic></xref>. The extraordinary standards of its predecessor are more than met again here and this looks certain to become the standard edition of Shelley's poetry, certainly in North America. In over 800 pages of detailed historical collations, commentaries, and reading texts, however, it is worth pointing out that this volume only takes us through <italic>The Esdaile Notebook</italic> and <italic>Queen Mab</italic>. Both are, of course, incredibly important in different ways, the former evidence of Shelley's early virtuoso ability and the latter a serious poem of philosophical and scientific ambition, but we are still in the very early days of Shelley's achievement. The hope will be that, with the excellent commentary provided by the editors, future readers will be able to give both works, and in particular Shelley's own notes to the latter, due attention. <italic>Queen Mab</italic> and Shelley's next great poem, <italic>Laon and Cythna</italic>, are both replete with revolutionary ambition, and it is Shelley's response to French radicalism that is explored in two different articles published this year: Lori Molinari, ‘Revising the Revolution: The Festival of Unity and Shelley's <italic>Beau Ideal</italic>’ (<italic>KSJ</italic> 53[2004] 97–126) and Cian Duffy, ‘ “The child of a fierce hour”: Shelley and Napoleon Bonaparte’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 399–416). One other excellent article is worth mentioning, Michael O’Neill's ‘<italic>Adonais</italic> and Poetic Power’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:ii[2004] 50–7), which deals with the idea of literary posterity in Shelley's writing, as does (in a sense) a popular work of rather indifferent quality, which traces the reputation of Beatrice Cenci in various works of nineteenth-century fiction, following the popularization of her cause by Shelley himself: <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B23"><italic>Beatrice's Spell: The Enduring Legacy of Beatrice Cenci</italic></xref> by Belinda Jack.</p>
<p>Work on Keats in 2004 was rather limited. There was one monograph, Richard Marggraf Turley's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B49"><italic>Keats's Boyish Imagination</italic></xref>, which attends to the disparity between Keats's presumed maturity and the extraordinarily callow nature of some of his poetic attitudes. Its rather surprising thesis is that Keats deploys puerility as a political stance or public face that disrupts social standards with regard to manly behaviour, the treatment of women, and the expectations of adult audiences. It has chapters on novel subjects such as foot imagery, the breaking voice, and female anatomy, but these do not really make it required reading for the student of Keats. John Whale's addition to the Palgrave Critical Issues series, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B54"><italic>John Keats</italic></xref>, is excellent and well worth looking at since he manages to pack an awful lot into a short space. An interesting article by John Barnard, ‘Keats, Andrew Motion's Dr Cake, and Charles Turner Thackrah’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 1–22), plays around with Motion's pseudo-biography, <italic>The Invention of Dr Cake</italic>, and illuminates a small corner of the Keats legacy by discussing Thackrah and the creation of the cult of Keats in Victorian Britain. It was in fact a strong year for Romantic biography generally, and Pimlico was responsible for recovering a lost author with Neil Powell's well-received <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B39"><italic>George Crabbe: An English Life 1754–1832</italic></xref>. The book contains interesting readings of the work of this sadly neglected figure and goes a long way towards suggesting the extraordinary diversity of his long and varied career, tracing his roots back to rural Suffolk and recreating both the London cultural milieu of his youth and the literary scene of his old age. <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B2">John Clare's poetry</xref>, meanwhile, became available in a very helpful little selection by Jonathan Bate, which has a useful introduction providing basic biographical details. Clare was the subject of an essay by Tom Paulin, ‘The Shaggy, the Rude, the Awkward: John Clare’ (<italic>LRB</italic> [19 February 2004]), which argues that the poet employed these odd words as both statements of aesthetic and political value, an argument that is reprised in Mina Gorji's similar ‘Clare's Awkwardness’ (<italic>EIC</italic> 54[2004] 216–39), which attends to the disparity between Clare's supposedly autodidactic poetic self and his knowledge of eighteenth-century verse. One other article on a non-canonical poet is worth mentioning, ‘Thomas Moore in Ireland and America: The Growth of a Poet's Mind’ by Jeffrey Vail (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 41–62). The most lasting contribution to scholarship on neglected figures, however, must be <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B40"><italic>Robert Southey: Poetical Works 1793–1810</italic></xref>. Under the general editorship of Lynda Pratt, this edition runs to five volumes. Although it does not, of course, give us all the poetry that Southey wrote, it does cover most of the period of his pre-laureate years. Most significantly, we now have textually accurate versions of the great epics in separate, excellently edited volumes: <italic>Joan of Arc</italic> and <italic>Madoc</italic>, both edited by Lynda Pratt; <italic>Thalaba the Destroyer</italic>, edited by Tim Fulford, and <italic>The Curse of Kehama</italic>, edited by Daniel Sanjiv Roberts. There is also one volume dedicated to his <italic>Selected Shorter Poems c.1793–1810</italic>, edited by Lynda Pratt, and one's hope must be that, just as the availability of epics will now enable us to reappraise the ways in which Southey contributed to the Orientalism of the early nineteenth century, so his shorter poems will allow us to assess the extent to which he diverged from his contemporaries in the 1790s and contributed to the maintenance of a distinct eighteenth-century tradition of bathetic verse.</p></sec>
<sec id="SEC2.2"><title>(b) Romantic Women Poets</title>
<p>One of the most engaging articles of the year is John Krapp's ‘Female Romanticism at the End of History’ (<italic>TSLL</italic> 46:i[2004] 73–91), taking as it does Jerome Christensen's imperative to ‘anachronize’ as a politics for reading women's writing. Where Christensen's recent work urges us to read Romantic literature using an anachronistic perspective able to disrupt our ideological inheritance of it, Krapp suggests that female Romantic poets were already thus committed, using anachronism to intervene in a sphere of political commentary dominated by men. ‘History’ as a space to enter, transcend, mourn, or celebrate was simply inaccessible to women, focused as they were on the everyday and the material. Hemans's ode-like ‘The Effigies’, ‘The Image in Lava’, or ‘The Graves of a Household’, for example, refuse the Keatsian move of protecting art from history by exploring its gendered critical reception and so refiguring the reader's ideological assumptions regarding art's status. As well as carefully working through the critical positions of thinkers such as Jameson, Fukujama, Christensen, Mellor, and Wolfson, Krapp also presents some wonderful readings of poetry by Dorothy Wordsworth, Barbauld, Robinson, Landon, Hemans, and Yearsley.</p>
<p>Charlotte Smith remains one of the most central poets in this category, and three articles published this year reflect on the nature of her Romantic poetic voice. Kandi Tayebi's ‘Charlotte Smith and the Quest for the Romantic Prophetic Voice’ (<italic>WW</italic> 11:iii[2004] 421–38), for example, discusses the authoritative drive of Smith's poetic voice, exploited by the poet as a way of successfully re-narrating and overturning genres such as the sonnet form. Employing such an accepted and traditional lyric, Smith is freed to explore more unusual issues such as female melancholia and the gendered imagination, Tayebi argues, as well as scientific subjects such as botany and geography. Tayebi also examines Smith's pastoral investments in a further article, ‘Undermining the Eighteenth-Century Pastoral: Rewriting the Poet's Relationship to Nature in Charlotte Smith's Poetry’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 131–50), locating them between superstition and science, nature and society. She argues that Smith uses nature as a way for readers to glimpse God and paradise, not through epic vision, but instead via a close observation comparable to the detailed gaze of the botanist and revealed in her grounded, attentive and earth-bound aesthetic. Bishop C. Hunt's ‘Wordsworth and Charlotte Smith: 1970’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:ii[2004] 80–91) and Jacqueline Labbe's ‘Gentility in Distress: A New Letter by Charlotte Smith (1749–1806)’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:ii[2004] 91–3) both appeared as part of the Wordsworth–Coleridge Association's special session on ‘Male and Female Romantic Writers in Dialogue’ (at the MLA, December 2003) published in full this year. Hunt's fascinating discussion traces Smith's business dealings with the Wordsworth family, Wordsworth's cousin John Robinson freeing Smith's feckless husband from debtor's gaol in 1793 by becoming his trustee. When Robinson failed to administer the Smith children's affairs, Hunt writes, Charlotte satirized him, notably in the person of Sir Appulby Gorges in <italic>The Young Philosopher</italic> [1798]. He also offers a meticulous and impressive study of their mutual influence through readings of the <italic>Elegiac Sonnets</italic> [1784] and <italic>The Emigrants</italic> [1793]. Labbe's piece draws our attention to a new addition to Judith Stanton's <italic>Collected Letters of Charlotte Smith</italic> (<italic>YWES</italic> 84[2005]), found in a box labelled ‘Sussex Poets’ in the University of Sussex Special Collections. The letter grants researchers some useful factual evidence regarding Smith's movements in 1791, but also, Labbe argues, demonstrates the poet's sense of her own worth as a woman of sensibility and a popular writer.</p>
<p>Hemans and Barbauld also remain centre stage in the field, Christoph Bode's ‘Ad Fontes! Remarks on the Temporalization of Space in Hemans (1829), Bruce (1790), and Barbauld (1812)’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 63–78) offering readings of the former's <italic>The Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy</italic> [1816] and the latter's <italic>Eighteen Hundred and Eleven</italic> [1812]. Bode turns to what he sets up as their complex relationship to spatial and temporal metaphors, which allow them to embark on an exploration of civilization and British origins. Kathryn Ready's ‘Identity, Character, and Gender: Anna Barbauld and Pope's Characters of Men and Women’ (<italic>WW</italic> 11:iii[2004] 377–98) persuasively compares Barbauld's verse characters to those of Pope's, using John Locke's definition of identity as consciousness to connect the two. For Ready, however, Barbauld is considerably less anxious about depicting the individual as a self-in-consciousness than Pope, drawing out the feminist implications of Locke's argument in her Warrington character sketches. In exploring the relationship between gender and identity, Barbauld challenges an essentialist understanding of the sexes while valorizing the ‘feminine’ above the ‘masculine’ in a celebration of a feminized masculinity. Ready also turns to Barbauld's gender politics in ‘ “What then, Poor Beastie!”: Gender, Politics and Animal Experimentation in Anna Barbauld's “The Mouse's Petition” ’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 28[2004] 92–114), exploring her poetic challenges to contemporary philosophical rationalizations of animal experimentation. ‘The Mouse's Petition’, for example, is often read as, and swiftly transformed into, a children's rhyme (as were many hunting songs), a move which Barbauld suggests throws a veil over their implications. Her poem, Ready argues, draws attention to the contrast between those who sacrificed animals for the advancement of knowledge and humanitarian concerns (such as Joseph Priestley), and those who vindicated an ethos of cruelty by killing animals for sport and pleasure. Alice G. Den Otter also turns to Barbauld's animal poems, specifically ‘The Caterpillar’, as a text which struggles to articulate the relationship between proprietor and prowler, victor and survivor. ‘Pests, Parasites, and Positionality: Anna Letitia Barbauld and “The Caterpillar” ’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:ii[2004] 209–30) offers an intricate reading of the poem as an exploration of relative ethics, rethinking the ideological implications of sympathy and pity to address both the dangers and values of pests and parasites in social and animal terms.</p>
<p>Four articles conclude this year's work, Linda Brigham's ‘Joanna Baillie's Reflections on the Passions: The “Introductory Discourse” and the Properties of Authorship’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iii[2004] 417–37); Victoria Myer's ‘Joanna Baillie: Speculations on Legal Cruelty’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 123–7); Heejeong Cho's ‘Conversation as Mediation: Dorothy Wordsworth's Poems to Children’ (<italic>NCLE</italic> 8:ii[2004] 173–97); and Eugene Stelzig's ‘ “Spirit Divine! With Thee I’ll Wander”: Mary Robinson and Coleridge in Poetic Dialogue’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 118–22). Brigham's essay analyses the status of Baillie's career through the poet's Burkean aesthetic, one invested in the gendering of the beautiful and the sublime, and also the related issue of the reproduction and consequent control of the passions. While her drama more obviously performs passion, Brigham suggests, her poetry too is written in a manner that directs attention away from its style in order to illuminate its material content. For Myers, this material content is often social, presented in a detailed form which mirrors the close scrutiny associated with contemporary examinations of legal issues. Baillie's poetical and dramatized depictions of approbation, transgression, and revenge thus allow her to reveal the public and private aspects of justice and the law. Where Cho offers a captivating study of Dorothy Wordsworth's children's poetry, Stelzig rethinks the dialogue between Coleridge and Robinson at the turn of the century, tracing their mutual admiration and poetic borrowings. Stelzig offers an interesting reading of Coleridge's preface to <italic>Kubla Kahn</italic> as a postscript to his intellectual and emotional friendship with Robinson, a figure he publicly defended against the scandal that followed Robinson's death.</p>
<p>Finally, two books tangential yet significant to the field appeared this year, Mary Waters's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B53"><italic>British Women Writers and the Profession of Literary Criticism</italic></xref> and Kari Lokke's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B30"><italic>Tracing Women's Romanticism: Gender, History and Transcendence</italic></xref>. Waters's book speaks to Romantic women's poetry through her compelling discussion of the history and development of women's literary criticism, a space in which women felt able to comment on and influence issues of ethics, nationhood, and cultural heritage. This important study recovers women's criticism while offering a nuanced discussion of its sophisticated and lively aesthetic, developed as it was from the work of the bluestocking circle. For Waters, however, professional women critics of the Romantic era also constructed their own intellectual and material collaborative culture, founded as it was on a network of dissenting affiliations. Certainly a central contribution of the study is its suggestion that the critical aesthetic developed by women like Barbauld, Wollstonecraft, Inchbald, Hays, Moody, and Martineau emerged from a rational dissenting theological sensibility. Focused on questions of morality, taste, benevolence, and feeling, dissent encouraged a practical and plain manner of communication influential on Romantic literary criticism. Where critical texts by male writers, such as Wordsworth's Preface to the 1800 edition of <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic>, openly guided public taste towards standards their own work embodied, women too used the essay and the preface to think through how their work might influence their readers and, consequently, society and culture. Waters's chapters on Barbauld show that she thought in precisely this way, mapping as they do the influence of her poetry, devotional literature, political pamphlets, and children's literature on her criticism. Intent on presenting British citizenry and ‘genuine Britishness itself’ as affectionate, domestic, and middle-class, Barbauld's reviews and critical prefaces alike attest to the egalitarian and inclusive impact of British popular literature on society. Moreover, her work on periodicals and novels, as well as her countless reviews, developed into one of the first substantial efforts to bring women into a British literary canon that was no longer upper-class or aristocratic and increasingly cosmopolitan, democratic, and framed by sensibility.</p>
<p>Lokke's study explores the cosmopolitan tradition of nineteenth-century idealist novels written by women in the Romantic era. This tradition, Lokke argues, provided a platform for women writers to both explore and also feminize subjects such as historiography, aesthetics, and the visionary, often regarded as the domain of men, not women, of poetry, not the novel. Focusing as she does on women novelists, then, Lokke offers those working on women's poetry a useful comparison, presenting a distinctly European picture of Romanticism explicated through readings of de Staël's <italic>Corinne</italic>, Mary Shelley's <italic>Valperga</italic>, Bettine von Arnim's <italic>Die Günderode</italic>, and George Sand's <italic>Consuelo</italic>. What emerges from the book is how each of these novelists employed a quasi-mystical language to reflect on their own engagement with female genius, Romantic enthusiasm, spiritual transcendence, and revolution. For Lokke, women's interest in the these subjects, especially that of revolution, is markedly different from their male contemporaries, each of the novelists discussed here seeking to ‘envisage how the world might look had the Revolution succeeded in implementing its original republican and egalitarian aims and to imagine the collective psychic changes that would be necessary for that implementation’. <italic>Corinne</italic>, for example, is read as a response to Goethe's <italic>Wilheim Meister</italic>: structured like a <italic>Bildungsroman</italic>, the novel nevertheless transforms the progressive linearity with which this genre is traditionally associated to grant, not just the hero, but also marginal or sacrificial figures a perspective and voice. While, for the male hero, expectations of marriage and a middle-class profession are gradually fulfilled, the female characters in Lokke's sample novels reject such convention for a narrative of ‘female self-discovery’. Such self-discovery, Lokke writes, tends to lead Romantic women poets—Hemans, Landon, Pavlova, for example—into a paralysis of heartache and dejection, while her novelists incorporate their feelings of disappointment into a wider sense of self. A broken heart, then, becomes a catalyst for the cultivation of a newly clarified awareness of history, politics, and spiritual belief, an awareness that is suspicious of the ostensibly indulgent melancholy of male Romanticism.</p></sec>
<sec id="SEC2.3"><title>(c) William Blake</title>
<p>In contrast to 2003, which saw a substantial number of full-length studies on Blake, there were considerably fewer Blake books during 2004, although several significant journal articles appeared. In addition, while quantity of publication was not particularly great, two of these books will become extremely significant to Blake studies in future years: a second edition of <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4"><italic>Blake Records</italic></xref> by G.E. Bentley, and Julia Wright's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B56"><italic>Blake, Nationalism, and the Politics of Alienation</italic></xref>. Bentley's annual checklist of Blake discoveries for the year (along with a number of additions—most of them fairly minor—for previous years) is published in <italic>Blake: An Illustrated Quarterly</italic> (<italic>Blake</italic> 39:i[2005] 4–37).</p>
<p>As well as this round-up of new texts on Blake, Bentley himself provided one of the most important texts issued in 2004, the revised second edition of <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4"><italic>Blake Records</italic></xref> published by Yale University Press. Incorporating both material from <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4"><italic>Blake Records</italic></xref> [1969] and <italic>Blake Records Supplement</italic> [1988], as well as newly discovered information (some of which appeared in <italic>The Stranger from Paradise</italic> [2001], this is a critical update to one of the key texts in Blake studies. Owners of Bentley's three previous books will actually find little that is new <italic>per se</italic> in this revised edition, but at the very least it provides a useful consolidation of material that was scattered through those texts.</p>
<p>The significance of <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4"><italic>Blake Records</italic></xref> has always been as a collection of all pertinent documents and references relating to Blake's life, rather than as a narrative biography. Indeed, comparing this second edition to the much more biographically straightforward <italic>The Stranger from Paradise</italic> does highlight some of the shortcomings of Bentley's previous book: as with any biographer, there is plenty of room for disagreement over interpretation of (often obscure) details. This is not to say that there is no exegesis taking place in <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B4"><italic>Blake Records</italic></xref>, but a great deal of this is Bentley collecting contemporary and near-contemporary accounts to provide as comprehensive an overview as possible. Of new material included in this edition, some of the highlights include precious scraps about the early life of Blake and his family (particularly around its commercial activity), more details about his wedding to Catherine Boucher, discoveries about collectors for his early publications, information on the letters from Seymour Kirkup that provide details of Blake's life during 1809–10, and a considerable amount of information about his final years and his relations with the Shoreham Ancients. Two other substantial additions can be found in appendices III and IV, where copies of John Linnell's account books between the years 1818 and 1836 provide detailed information on Blake's financial state in later years, while the appendix on ‘Engravings by and after Blake’ draws on the Blake Books Supplement and Robert Essick's <italic>The Separate Plates of William Blake</italic> [1983] to provide a handy checklist of Blake's work between 1773 and 1831.</p>
<p>The second important book published in 2004 was Julia M. Wright's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B56"><italic>Blake, Nationalism, and the Politics of Alienation</italic></xref>, which—a couple of provisos aside—will probably become the authoritative text on Blake's relationship to the politics of nationalism. Wright offers a sophisticated and very coherent theoretical account of Blake's attitude to the nationalisms that emerged at the turn of the nineteenth century, considered less as an ‘imagined community’ (after Benedict Anderson) than ‘a means for instituting a coherent community through disciplinary mechanisms’ (p. xv). As well as the Foucauldian approach suggested by this phrase, Wright discusses nationalism as a series of discourses shaped by narrative, heterogeneity, and hybridity that owes a great deal to postcolonial theory. There are a few areas that could have made the text even more comprehensive: Michael Hechter's notion of internal colonization is crucial to the politics of this period, while Linebaugh and Rediker's <italic>The Many-Headed Hydra</italic> [2000] offers a more straightforwardly Marxist interpretation of the Atlantic revolutions as a response to the alienation discussed in Wright's book. Nonetheless, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B56"><italic>Blake, Nationalism, and the Politics of Alienation</italic></xref> is a wide-ranging study.</p>
<p>Chapter 1 opens with an interesting discussion of Blake's approach to identity (national and otherwise) via his engraving of the <italic>Laocoön</italic>, offering as it does a deconstruction of Western textuality against a background of classicist theories of art. This single plate has attracted a great deal of attention in recent years (much of it probably inspired by Morton Paley's particular interest from 1999 onwards), and Wright is especially concerned to place the strange text not only within the nation's attitudes to art but also as a transgression of the traditional ‘line of writing’ that fits with Blake's alternative mediation of identities. I do take issue with the suggestion that the <italic>Laocoön</italic> is a hypertext: it is not (although it probably is, to use the term coined by Espen Aarseth, a <italic>cybertext</italic>). Nonetheless, this is an original intervention which indicates the approach taken by Wright throughout the rest of her book.</p>
<p>She continues with an account of the narrative origins of the British nation, drawing on Homi Bhabha and Mollie Rothenberg to add to the theoretical richness of the chapter, but missing out some of the scholarly work that has been done on minor eighteenth-century antiquarian and nationalist contributors. When dealing with the potential of revolutionary heterogeneity, however, in chapter 3, Wright offers a compelling reading that deals with how, in the Lambeth prophecies, ‘Blake plots the separation of the individual from interpellative social paradigms’ (p. 57). In conjunction with the fourth chapter, ‘Unbinding the Voice in <italic>America</italic> and <italic>Europe</italic>’, Wright offers a series of thoughtful and sensitive readings. The final two chapters, dealing principally with <italic>Milton</italic> and <italic>Jerusalem</italic>, are ambitious, if sometimes a little disappointing. ‘Modeling the Nation in <italic>Milton</italic>’ offers an excellent opportunity to return to the classical, militarist aesthetic outlined in her first chapter on <italic>Laocoön</italic>, and is very good as a rejection of Milton as a figure of national martyrdom and heroic ‘self-sacrifice’ (as opposed to the annihilation of selfhood); yet she misses an opportunity to discuss the importance of Milton's <italic>History of Britain</italic> to <italic>Milton</italic>. The final chapter, on <italic>Jerusalem</italic> as an example of disease and hybridity, very interestingly considers that prophetic work to be Blake's ‘most tyrannical, plotting the assimilation of the globe into his own political and religious vision’ (p. 155). I am not entirely convinced that Blake ‘submits his readership to an administrative taxonomy’ (p. 166), but Wright is correct to be suspicious of the colonizing tendency of Blake's Christian utopia, and this is an extremely important contribution to Blake studies.</p>
<p>Kevin Fischer's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B14"><italic>Converse in the Spirit: William Blake, Jacob Boehme, and the Creative Spirit</italic></xref> is an exceptionally and exhaustively detailed account of Blake's use of the esoteric theogony of the Silesian mystic Jacob Boehme. The book is divided into two main parts: the first offers a broad overview of Boehme's life and significance for Blake, while the second examines how Boehme's ‘properties’ and ‘principles’ of nature, accounting for the manifestation of existence from the <italic>Ungrund</italic> (nothingness), can be correlated to particular episodes in Blake's writings. In contrast to Sheila Spector's recent work on Blake and (principally Jewish) cabbalism, Fischer makes the compelling argument that Blake was particularly influenced by Boehme as one of the primary sources of a specifically <italic>Christian</italic> cabbala, in some sense refining many of the allusions that have tended to be passed over since the work of Kathleen Raine and Desiree Hirst.</p>
<p>One potential problem for Fischer is that, while Boehme is name-checked several times throughout Blake's work, and undoubtedly had a significant influence on the Romantic's mythological systems, that influence also appears to have been relatively low-key at times. This represents a difficulty for Fischer's undoubtedly creative argument, which seeks out a series of ‘correspondences’ between the two mystical systems. Far too often, Fischer discovers such correspondences in verbal echoes that could also have their source in many other texts: thus—and to pick examples at random (for there are many in this book)—the exhortation in the preface to <italic>Milton</italic> to ‘not cease from Mental Fight’ is reminiscent of Boehme's declaration that ‘man must “not be a lazy sleeper” ’ (p. 63), or the attack on the Deists in <italic>Jerusalem</italic> stems from the <italic>Mysterium Magnum</italic> (p. 53). The problem is not so much that Boehme did not influence Blake—the evidence is manifest and extensive—but rather that once Fischer begins to look for this influence he discovers it everywhere, at the expense of alternative (and sometimes more profitable) sources.</p>
<p>Despite these criticisms, <italic>Converse in Spirit</italic> provides extremely valuable material to the Blake scholar. Certainly Fischer's knowledge of Boehme's life and philosophy is comprehensive and very useful for anyone seeking a deeper understanding of the role of Boehme in guiding Blake's thought. For me, the second part of the book—the introductory chapters on Boehme's life and relationship to mystical traditions aside—is more successful than the first. When dealing with some of the generalities of the creative correspondences between these two figures, Fischer tends to pile on allusion after allusion, which is often slightly bewildering without ever being fully convincing: when turning to the minute particulars of a Boehmenist theogeny, however, and how antinomies such as dark and light, wrath and meekness, generate the material universe, Fischer's scholarship and erudition come into their own. Sometimes the argument of <italic>Converse in Spirit</italic> remains more difficult to follow than it really should be, especially as the tendency to find references to Boehme in pretty much <italic>all</italic> of Blake's writings tends to distract us from those sections in the prophetic works where the correlation is most important. As a simple example, Blake's notions of wrath and meekness undoubtedly owe a great deal to Boehme (in the Bard's Song in <italic>Milton</italic>, for instance), but that does not mean that every time Blake mentions these two words he is engaged in a dialogue—creative or otherwise—with this particular predecessor.</p>
<p>One unusual text published in the UK for 2004 (although the American edition appeared at the end of 2003) was Janet Warner's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B52"><italic>Other Sorrows, Other Joys: The Marriage of Catherine Sophia Boucher and William Blake</italic></xref>. A fictional account of the lives of Catherine and William, Catherine also functions as a device to consider the literary and artistic circles of the late eighteenth century, including encounters with Wollstonecraft, Fuseli, and Johnson. Warner's <italic>Blake and the Language of Art</italic> [1984] was a well-received discussion of Blake's pictorial grammar, and her novel has generally received good reviews, including a number from commentators who are not particularly approving of Blake more generally.</p>
<p>Told in a series of interviews with Frederick Tatham, interspersed with letters and journal entries from other characters (saved by Catherine or written from her imagination), the novel is not simply a biography of her husband but also a discussion of her personal thoughts, jealousies, and desires inspired by him. Included among these events is the personal tragedy of the stillbirth of their only child, whose detail seems to owe a great deal to recent research conducted by Tristanne Connolly. For scholars interested in Catherine Blake (who has, indeed, begun to attract significant attention herself in recent years) and her husband, the novel offers a sympathetic approach to feminist discussions of Blake's life and work.</p>
<p>Of the first number of <italic>Blake: An Illustrated Quarterly</italic> published in 2004, Robert Essick's round-up of ‘Blake in the Marketplace, 2003’ (<italic>Blake</italic> 37:iv[2004] 116–36) continued with the saga of the sale of Blake's watercolour illustrations to <italic>The Grave</italic>, as well as listing the sales of mainly letterpress books with engravings by and after Blake and some interesting Blakeana. The same issue also includes Robert Rix's entertaining discussion of Blake's annotations to Bacon, which originally included a sketch of the Devil's arse as he excretes onto the king and which has since been partly erased. In ‘Blake, Bacon and “The Devils Arse” ’ (<italic>Blake</italic> 37:iv[2004] 137–44), Rix places this crude sketch in the context of revolutionary cartoons that regularly depicted devils defecating on the clergy and aristocracy.</p>
<p>In ‘Recovering the Lost Moravian History of William Blake's Family’ (<italic>Blake</italic> 38:i[2004] 36–42), Keri Davies and Marsha Keith Schuchard amend and extend an earlier essay published in <italic>Blake</italic> that speculated on the identity of Blake's maternal grandparents. Discoveries made in 2001 by Schuchard indicate strong links between the Blakes and the Moravian Church, which occupied the almost unique position among eighteenth-century nonconformist sects of being recognized as both Dissenting and an episcopal sister to the Anglican Church. As the authors comment at the end, ‘This present paper, modifying Davies's own published work (itself correcting previous scholarship), indicates how much inaccurate or incomplete information abounds about even the most basic details of Blake's life’ (p. 42).</p>
<p>The first of two papers to address Blake's relation with Lavater is Mary Lynn Johnson's ‘Blake's Engravings for Lavater's <italic>Physiognomy</italic>: Overdue credit to Chodowiecki, Schellenberg, and Lips’ (<italic>Blake</italic> 38:ii[2004] 52–74), a comprehensive discussion of the sources of Blake's engravings that discusses in detail previous work by the Polish–French artist Daniel Nikolaus Chodowiecki in particular. As Johnson points out, Blake often copied and adapted designs made by Chodowiecki that were then engraved by Johann Rudolf Schellenberg for the <italic>Essays in Physiognomy</italic> I, part of a proliferation of Lavater's texts throughout the eighteenth century. Ironically, many of these publications were commercial disasters, but they contributed to the public craze, or ‘physiognomanie’.</p>
<p>A very ambitious paper, but one that produces very mixed results, is Adam Komisaruk's ‘Introducing the Blake Model’ (<italic>Blake</italic> 38:iii[2004] 92–102). This begins from the extremely interesting question of what it would be like to use computer technologies to recreate Blake's universe digitally. Indeed, at the very least it would be entertaining if Komisaruk did provide a ‘first-person shooter’ of Blake's complex cosmology, and if such a scrolling environment could be fully annotated this would at least be a curiosity for students and scholars. There are problems with any approach to visualizing Blake's universe—the first of which must be that Blake himself provided a fairly comprehensive view in his art (although, strictly speaking, this approach would be to translate those illustrations to virtual 3D). Previous attempts to schematize this cosmology (for example by Damrosch and Frye) often iron out any irregularities that they discover within Blake, and this—along with the fact that images from Komisaruk's work in progress are rather mediocre—points to the biggest problem with this plan, that its author conceives of it as <italic>the</italic> Blake Model, rather than (more simply) <italic>a</italic> Blake model.</p>
<p>In recent years there has been a growing interest in Blake's relationship to the scientific enquiries of his day (which is, indeed, part of a more general and welcome trend in Romanticism studies). George H. Gilpin's ‘William Blake and the World's Body of Science’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 35–56) examines <italic>The [First] Book of Urizen</italic> as a satire on ‘the abstraction of contemporary science and its inhumane indifference to human suffering’ (p. 36), combining the gruesome anatomical studies of John Hunter with Newtonian cosmology and the geological theories of James Hutton. Tristanne Connolly's recent <italic>William Blake and the Body</italic> [2002] provided a much more extensive treatment of Hunter (among other contemporary considerations of anatomy), but Gilpin does an effective job of drawing together how these different strands of science contributed to Blake's art and writing. While Gilpin's contribution is excellent in terms of Blake's ideological satire on the operations of science, however, the next step is probably to apply a more rigorous critique of Blake's understanding of the scientific revolution that was taking place around him. In this regard, it is probably worth noting M.W. Jackson's contribution to <italic>Notes and Queries</italic>, ‘Blake's Appropriation of the Newtonian “Moment” ’ (<italic>N&Q</italic> 51:ii[2004] 134–6), which offers a pithy account (drawn from F.B. Curtis's ‘Blake and the “Moment of Time”‘[1972]) of how Newton's account of fluxions could be incorporated into <italic>Milton</italic>.</p>
<p>The second paper to discuss (among other things) Blake and Lavater is Matthew Green's ‘Outlining the “Human Form Divine”: Reading Blake's Thoughts on Outline and Response to Locke alongside Lavater and Cumberland’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 511–32). Part of the research conducted by Green which culminates in his book, <italic>Visionary Materialism in the Early Works of William Blake</italic> [2005], this particular paper uses Blake's annotations to Lavater's <italic>Aphorisms on Man</italic>, as well as that author's <italic>Essays on Physiognomy</italic> and George Cumberland's <italic>Thoughts on Outline</italic>, as a means of counteracting Locke's mechanistic psychology. In particular, Lavater's ‘science’ as a means of bridging internal causes and external effects by means of a semiotics or (as Cumberland expressed it) a ‘grammigraphia’ provided ‘a means of relating the visible to the invisible, a concern that is of ongoing relevance in Blake's work’ (p. 529).</p>
<p>A very different type of study is Catalin Ghita's ‘Poetic Quaternaries: William Blake's Unsystematic System’ (<italic>Shiron</italic> 42[2004] 19–39), which attempts to offer a literary hermeneutic of Blake's poetry, positing a ‘unity of significance’. This, frankly, is rather old-fashioned—drawing as it does principally on Erdman, Frye, and Damon. The heavily schematized outline proposed by Ghita appears to differ very little from the comprehensive exegesis offered by these critics and their followers, although the model of four levels of interpretation—social, metaphysical, aesthetic, and religious—does have the advantage of combining the majority of Blake's concerns into one model. Compared to scholarly work in Blake studies in recent years that has focused on historical contexts, reception, and bibliographical analysis, this kind of phenomenological hermeneutics often appears less convincing in its conclusions.</p>
<p>In addition to Kevin Fischer's book-length study, Marsha Newman's ‘ “Milton's Track” Revisited: Visual Analogues to Blake's Vortex in the “Law Edition” of Boehme’ (<italic>ILS</italic> 5:ii[2004] 73–93) takes as its starting point Blake's use of vortices and whirlpool imagery in his poetry. After briefly considering the Cartesian vortex (particularly as it was rejected as a mechanism for the motion of celestial bodies by Newton in his <italic>Principia</italic>, something discussed by Stuart Peterfreund [1998] and Donald Ault [1974]), Newman concentrates on esoteric sources, especially Swedenborg and Boehme. Following Andrew Weeks, she notes how <italic>turba</italic> often figure in Boehme, and that ‘Boehme's vortex as both a linguistic and visual construct may have been a prototype for Blake's vortex symbology’ (p. 76). Particularly helpful is the discussion of Dionysius Freher's illustrations, themselves incorporated into the William Law edition of Boehme's works: among these engravings is one that shows the spiral progression of the soul entering creation and has a clear analogy to the descent of Milton in Blake's epic poem.</p>
<p>Carter Kaplan's ‘Fractal Fantasies of Transformation: William Blake, Michael Moorcock, and the Utilities of Mythographic Shamanism’ (<italic>Extrapolation</italic> 45:iv[2004] 419–39) offers some interesting experimental readings of Blake and Moorcock via Wittgenstein. While not always successful (for example, mapping three levels of Moorcock's ether trilogy onto Ulro, Beulah, and Eternity—one of several examples indicating that Kaplan is probably more at ease with Moorcock than with Blake), there is a certain brio about the essay, and the author is quite forthcoming about his purpose, being ‘not so much interested in the way William Blake has influenced Michael Moorcock as … in the way that Michael Moorcock has influenced my reading of William Blake’ (p. 42). After a series of presentations of Blake as Zen master, Druid (or anti-Druid), and Muggletonian, William Blake as shaman is potentially an entertaining incarnation.</p>
<p>‘William Blake's Androgynous Ego-Ideal’ by Tom Hayes (<italic>ELH</italic> 71:i[2004] 141–65) begins with the ‘Visionary Head’ drawing of the ‘Man Who Instructed Blake in his Dreams’ as an example of the ‘representation of how Blake would like to have looked if he had been able to avoid conforming to the code of heterosexual masculinity’ (p. 143). Pursuing an analysis that has its roots in Lacanian theories of the law and the phallus, Hayes makes some interesting points about hermaphroditism and androgyny in Blake's writings that also draw on recent gender studies such as Hobson's <italic>Blake and Homosexuality</italic> [2001] and Bruder's <italic>William Blake and the Daughters of Albion</italic> [1997]. Hayes does not detract from the (often dangerous) ambiguities of Blake's own gender politics, but argues that he resists the ‘regularization and normalization’ of conventional patriarchy, whereby ‘double-sexed hermaphrodites, not androgynous men, represent the narcissistic fantasy of wholeness’ (p. 160).</p>
<p>The two final articles from 2004 both use the motif of the soul to explore Blake's ideas around identity and agency. The first of these is another study that takes its inspiration (at least in part) from psychoanalysis, Nancy Moore Goslee's ‘ “Soul-shudd’ring Vacuum”: Space for Subjects in Later Blake’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 391–407), which also extends and develops some ideas presented by Goslee in a 2002 paper on ‘ “Soul” in Blake's Writing’. The distinction between Blake's early and later usage of the word ‘soul’, according to Goslee, is that in the texts of the 1790s he achieves a ‘brilliant’ synthesis that draws upon Enlightenment materialist monistic conceptions, combined with his own visionary ideas, to challenge ‘orthodox religious dualisms of body and soul’ (p. 391). In later texts, by contrast, soul as the communal body of the church and the resurrected body of the individual introduces an ambiguity that produces friction alongside the easy monism of Blake's early texts. Goslee's use of Lacanian and Foucauldian spaces that enable the development of agency within the individual can be difficult to follow at times, but this essay draws very well upon work by Peter Otto, Thomas Vogle, Marjean Purinton, and others to discuss the complex subjectivity that arises in Blake's later prophetic writings.</p>
<p>Stephen C. Behrendt's ‘ “The soul of sweet delight”: Blake and the Sensual Soul’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 409–23) approaches this problematic term from ‘an oblique angle’, that is, the artist's designs for Robert Blair's <italic>The Grave</italic>, which in turn provides a detour through the ways in which ‘soul’ is used in the Bible, as a cognate for individual, rational mind and even the metaphysical conjunction of physical body and living essence, a rare usage from Genesis that Behrendt argues was extremely influential on Blake's thought. While Behrendt does not address the important point made by Goslee—that the use of the term is different in his early and later prophecies—he makes some extremely pertinent points regarding Blake's gendering of the soul, and is correct to remark that ‘the soul is the key to everything: to vision, to individual, to Eternity … Not separate from the body, the Blakean soul is at once at the center and the circumference of individual being’ (p. 418).</p>
<p>2004 saw a great deal of activity on the William Blake Archive, <<ext-link ext-link-type="uri" xlink:href="www.blakearchive.org">www.blakearchive.org</ext-link>>, most notably additions of a number of copies of the 1790s Lambeth prophecies as well as electronic editions of the large colour prints. These, as the editors of the archive point out, ‘are often considered to be his greatest works as a pictorial artist’, and images such as <italic>Newton</italic> and <italic>Elohim Creating Adam</italic> are certainly among his most famous works. Particularly impressive is the fact that, where multiple versions of one print exist (as with <italic>Pity</italic>), these are all provided in the archive. Of copies of illuminated books added in 2004, these consist of: copy M of <italic>America</italic>, only one of four of the fourteen extant copies that was coloured and which was printed in 1807; copy H of <italic>Europe</italic>, by contrast the only monochrome version of the nine that exist; two copies, A and D, of <italic>The Song of Los</italic>, two richly colour-printed versions from 1795; and copy A of <italic>Visions of the Daughters of Albion</italic>, one of the first printed versions produced in 1793 which is published in electronic format alongside the proof copy of the text. Finally, Joseph Viscomi's essay on ‘Illuminated Printing’, from <italic>The Cambridge Companion to William Blake</italic>, was also added to the resources for further research.</p></sec></sec>
<sec id="SEC3"><title>3. Prose</title>
<p>Non-fictional prose is the area of Romantic studies where the effects of the expansion of the canon, and the trend towards a more contextual approach to literary studies, have the most potential to transform received scholarly narratives. It is disappointing, then, to find a relatively conventional approach being adopted in the latest volume in the Comparative History of Literatures in European Languages series, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B47"><italic>Nonfictional Romantic Prose: Expanding Borders</italic></xref>, edited by Steven P. Sondrup and Virgil Nemoianu in collaboration with Gerald Gillespie. Nemoianu's general introduction (pp. 1–10) suggests that Romanticism can be defined as an ‘attempt to … account for the beginning of the globalization of human society and the human experiences then taking place’ (p. 1), but is then followed by a succession of essays that take the philosophy and literature of Germany, precisely the European country that had least first-hand experience of globalization, as paradigmatic for Romanticism as a whole. Thus Monika Schmitz-Emans, in ‘Theories of Romanticism: the First Two Hundred Years’ (pp. 13–36), confidently advances the totalizing claim that ‘German literature around 1800 is generally regarded outside of Germany … as part of a supra-national literary movement’ (p. 24); Gerhart Hoffmeister's ‘Hegel and Hegelianism in European Romanticism’ (pp. 57–68) highlights Hegel's role in the thinking of Victor Cousin and Giuseppe Mazzini, while completely ignoring the arguably more important influence of the Scottish Common Sense philosophical tradition in both France and Italy during the nineteenth century; and Manfred Engel and Jürgen Lehmann's ‘The Aesthetics of German Idealism and its Reception in European Romanticism’ (pp. 69–95), although admitting that French Romanticism takes ‘a completely different direction’ (p. 88) from German idealism, nevertheless insists on interpreting Coleridge's <italic>Biographia Literaria</italic> (whose publication date is given as 1827, rather than 1815) as a straightforward description of ‘a new philosophical system developed after studying Kant, Fichte and Schelling’ (p. 90), despite the caveat of virtually every recent Coleridge scholar that Coleridge's thought departs very significantly from German idealism in certain areas. The volume completely lacks any discussion of Robert Southey, surely one of the writers of Romantic prose who engages most significantly with issues of globalization, nor does it so much as mention James Mill's <italic>History of British India</italic>, whose relationship to Romantic ideas about the imagination has been the subject of several recent studies.</p>
<p>After the rather old-fashioned ‘history of ideas’ narratives that dominate the first hundred pages, it was a relief to find Carolyn Buckley-Fletcher's ‘Sir Walter Scott and the Beginnings of Ethnology’ (pp. 107–13) exploring the relationship between Scott's early novels and emerging ‘scientific “narratives” in ethnology, history … and psychology’ (p. 112). Michael Gassenmeier and Jens Martin Gurr's ‘Burke's Conservatism and its Echoes on the Continent and in the United States’ (pp. 117–39) interestingly explores the relationship between Burke's <italic>Reflections on the Revolution in France</italic> and de Maistre's ‘reactionary authoritarianism bordering on totalitarianism’ (p. 134), though the central thesis that Burke aims to ‘restore … the shaken hierarchy of privileges of the great “chain of being” ’ (p. 127) failed to convince. Frederick Garber's two essays, ‘Allegories of Address: The Poetics of the Romantic Diary’ (pp. 198–221) and ‘The Romantic Familiar Essay’ (pp. 267–84) were in many ways the highlights of the volume, exploring the enunciative paradoxes of using the word ‘I’ in an autobiographical context in order to reveal the importance of apparently minor genres to ‘what many readers see as fundamentally romantic: dialectic, the dialogue, the conversational, the familiar’ (p. 275). The area where the comparative perspective of the volume proved most illuminating, however, was in studies of the role of women: Carol Strauss Sotiropoulos and Margaret R. Higonnet's ‘Educating for Women's Future: Thinking New Forms’ (pp. 241–64) ranges widely among European writers about the education of women in order to support its thesis that the French Revolution marked a turning point in the debate about women's education (p. 242), and Virgil Nemoianu's ‘Sacrality as Aesthetic in the Early Nineteenth Century: A Network Approach’ (pp. 423–32) emphasizes the role played by women in the early nineteenth-century religious revival that marked a reaction against ‘the Enlightenment's intellectual and political elites’ (p. 423). More materially based approaches to Romanticism are represented by John Boening's ‘The Unending Conversation: The Role of Periodicals in England and on the Continent during the Romantic Age’ (pp. 285–301), which emphasizes the centrality of ‘the new profusion of periodicals’ (p. 286) to the ironic forms of Romanticism, as characterized by ‘a never-ending conversation, which is not simply dialectic or dialogic, but multivocal and multilateral’ (p. 286), and Alan Richardson's ‘Romanticism, the Unconscious and the Brain’ (pp. 349–64), which calls attention to ‘the relation of romantic-era brain science to literary and theoretical formulations of the unconscious mind and its workings’ (p. 350). Joel Black's ‘Literary Sources of Romantic Psychology: The Self-Analytic Case History before Freud’ (pp. 365–75), meanwhile, argues for the role of Romantic writers ‘in inaugurating what has become the key genre in the human sciences, the case history’ (p. 365).</p>
<p>One of the Romantic writers who exhibits this interest in describing his own experience as a case history most strongly is of course Coleridge, and Rei Terada's impressive ‘Phenomenality and Dissatisfaction in Coleridge's Notebooks’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:ii[2004] 257–81) explores the use Coleridge makes of his own ‘minute descriptions of optical illusions, hallucinations, and sensory oddities’ (p. 257) in his arguments against empiricism, and their relationship to his own psychological sense of alienation. On a more general level, Anthony John Harding explores the impact of the notebooks’ publication on scholarly interpretation in ‘Coleridge's Notebooks: Manuscript to Print to Database’ (<italic>ColB</italic> 24[2004] 1–10), where he examines ‘the interdependency in the scholarly culture of the twenty-first century, of three media: (1) manuscript (2) printed-and-bound volumes, and (3) electronic database’ (p. 1) in the light of the project to produce an electronic subject index for Coleridge's notebooks.</p>
<p>Harding notes the critical tendency to ‘monumentalize’ (p. 2) the notebooks to which Coburn's edition has given rise in the face of the fragmentary and provisional nature of the original materials, and in his theoretically sophisticated ‘The “Perpetual Exercise of an Interminable Quest”: The <italic>Biographia Literaria</italic> and the Kantian Revolution’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 557–81) David M. Baulch arguably explores a similar issue in relation to Coleridge's own act of self-monumentalization, by examining the ‘void between the self-displaced Kantian subject and the <italic>Biographia</italic>'s autobiographical subject’ (p. 560) as it appears in the famously absent transcendental deduction of the Imagination. Baulch persuasively reads <italic>Biographia Literaria</italic> as an example of Žižek's ‘ideological quilting’, in which ‘identifying the process by which the unity and identity of the subject and ideological field is both created and sustained, points to the theoretical necessity of the unsymbolizable Lacanian real as the void which structures meaning’ (p. 564), although a wider historical perspective might have shown that what Baulch identifies as ‘the Kantian crisis of the subject’ (p. 581) is in fact characteristic of a wide range of late eighteenth-century philosophy, being fundamental, for example, to the so-called ‘Adam Smith problem’. This emphasis on a German idealist context for the interpretation of Coleridge's thought is also characteristic of Jeffrey Hipolito's two related essays, ‘Coleridge, Hermeneutics and the Ends of Metaphysic’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 547–65) and ‘ “Conscience the Ground of Consciousness”: The Moral Epistemology of Coleridge's <italic>Aids to Reflection</italic>’ (<italic>JHI</italic> 65:iii[2004] 455–74), which explore the way in which Coleridge modifies the relationship Kant proposes between logic and morality in favour of a more evolutionary and situational responsiveness (pp. 473–74) which assimilates morality to the aesthetic (p. 470). Hipolito suggests that the <italic>Essays on Method</italic> in the 1818 version of <italic>The Friend</italic> constitute a self-reflexive gesture on Coleridge's part, ‘sending the reader back to its beginning in order to read the first acquired meanings of such terms as ‘principles’, ‘law’, and the rest, in light of the latest’ (p. 563). This focus on the <italic>Essays on Method</italic> is shared by Waka Ishikura's ‘Coleridge, Davy and the Science of Method’ (<italic>ColB</italic> 24[2004] 68–73), which examines their relationship to ‘Coleridge's theoretical arguments in favor of Davy and his chemical research’ (p. 69). Edmund Garratt's ‘ “A truly friendly man”: Richard “Conversation” Sharp and Samuel Taylor Coleridge’ (<italic>ChLB</italic> 126[2004] 43–50) describes the London Whig circle in which both Coleridge and James Mackintosh moved in the early 1800s.</p>
<p>The potential for a performative reading which Hipolito finds in <italic>The Friend</italic> is also invoked in E.S. Burt's theoretically orientated article ‘Hospitality in Autobiography: Levinas chez De Quincey’ (<italic>ELH</italic> 71:iv[2004] 867–97), which suggests that a conception of hospitality is common to Levinas and De Quincey in a way that Barrell's economic reading of De Quincey fails to take account of (p. 873). One of De Quincey's most famous essays is the subject of two contrasting readings. Timothy Ziegenhagen's ‘War Addiction in Thomas De Quincey's <italic>The English Mail Coach</italic>’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:ii[2004] 93–8) interprets the essay as an expression of De Quincey's ‘mixed feelings about the use of British military power’ in that ‘while the victories may be thrilling, these thrills are addictive in nature, finally compromising the inviolable boundaries of self ’ (p. 94), an ‘ideology of power’ which Ziegenhagen relates to the contemporary ‘so-called “war on terror” ’ (p. 98). The other reading of this essay is contained in <italic>Yearbook of English Studies</italic> 34, entitled ‘Nineteenth-Century Travel Writing’, edited by David Seed; this is Robin Jarvis's ‘The Glory of Motion: De Quincey, Travel and Romanticism’ (<italic>YES</italic> 34[2004] 74–87), which draws attention to the anachronistic nature of the essay as a celebration of the speed of the stage-coach written in the age of the much faster railways, suggesting that this reflects the transformation of the journey from ‘an uncomfortable and possibly dangerous means to an end’ into ‘an expression of personal freedom’ (p. 84) that is characteristic of the Romantic period.</p>
<p>The claims of the Scottish intellectual tradition to be regarded as the most immediate context for British Romanticism form the subject of a number of the essays in Davis et al., eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B10"><italic>Scotland and the Borders of Romanticism</italic></xref>. Cairns Craig's ‘Coleridge, Hume and the Chains of the Romantic Imagination’ (pp. 20–37) tackles the conflict between this Scottish perspective and the Germanizing interpretations of the Coleridgean Imagination that are characteristic of much contemporary Romantic criticism, pointing out that Coleridge's claim to have overthrown associationism is patently untrue when regarded historically, given the sheer dominance of associationist aesthetic theory in Britain throughout the nineteenth century. Ian Duncan's ‘The Pathos of Abstraction: Adam Smith, Ossian, and Samuel Johnson’ (pp. 38–56) identifies Hume as a significant absence in <italic>Johnson's Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland</italic>, suggesting that Johnson's attack on Macpherson's Ossianic poetry ‘masks a philosophically principled engagement’ with a Humean ‘logic of abstraction that is characteristic of eighteenth-century Scottish writing’ (p. 39). The relationship between the grand narratives of Scottish philosophical history and more local perspectives is the focus of Susan Manning's ‘Antiquarianism, the Scottish Science of Man, and the Emergence of Modern Disciplinarity’ (pp. 57–76), which examines the tensions between the antiquarian tradition and Enlightenment standards of ‘politeness’, and also of Ina Ferris's ‘Melancholy, Memory and the “Narrative Situation” of History in Post-Enlightenment Scotland’ (pp. 77–93), which charts the development of a form of history-writing that is ‘sentimental’ in the Schillerian sense in regarding history ‘less as a form of knowledge about the past than as a mode of connection in the present based on the historian's own alienation’ (p. 84).</p>
<p>The important connection between Scottish Enlightenment thought and the development of nineteenth-century periodical culture, represented by the founding of the <italic>Edinburgh Review</italic>, is one of the major centres of attention in Jane Rendall's ‘Bluestockings and Reviewers: Gender, Power, and Culture in Britain, <italic>c.</italic>1800–1830’ (<italic>NCC</italic> 26:iv[2004] 355–74), which highlights the importance of the circle of women around Francis Jeffrey as one of the objects of early nineteenth-century attacks on ‘bluestockings’ (p. 360). The role played by women in early nineteenth-century reviewing culture is the subject of Mary A. Waters's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B53"><italic>British Women Writers and the Profession of Literary Criticism, 1789–1832</italic></xref> (also discussed in <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC2.2">Section 2(b)</xref> above) which offers a survey of paid reviewing work by writers such as Anna Letitia Barbauld, Elizabeth Inchbald, Mary Wollstonecraft, and Harriet Martineau, arguing that the traditional dismissal of such writing as ‘hack’ work cannot be regarded as an adequate response in the light of recent arguments that stress the need to look beyond ‘the Romantic ideology of the solitary individual genius to the actual practices that govern literary production at that historical and cultural moment’ (p. 8). A similar argument is made specifically in relationship to Barbauld in the same author's ‘ “Slovenly monthly catalogues”: The Monthly Review and Barbauld's Periodical Literary Criticism’ (<italic>NCP</italic> 31:i[2004] 53–81), and it is hard for a <italic>YWES</italic> reviewer not to regard it with some sympathy.</p>
<p>The shift in scholarly attention from individual writers to relations of literary production, for which Waters calls, is embodied in Paul Keen's innovative and valuable anthology, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B27"><italic>Revolutions in Romantic Literature: An Anthology of Print Culture 1780–1832</italic></xref>, which emphasizes the ‘meta-critical’ dimension of Romantic literary culture, showing that it is ‘marked by energetic and seemingly unending discussions about the conditions within which writers were immersed’ (p. xv); the anthology also engages with other recent critical concerns such as anti-slavery and British colonialism, as well as with the more traditional topics of the revolution controversy and debates about female conduct. The concentration of material assembled in the anthology's double-column format goes well beyond what could easily be retrieved from online sources. A similar focus on the discursive culture of Romantic periodicals is evident in Peter Howell's thought-provoking ‘Burke, Paine and the Newspapers: An “Archaeology” of Political Knowledge 1789–93’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iii[2004] 357–98), which analyses the revolution controversy in terms of the contrasting newspaper genres of the court circular and reports of political debates, which he suggest are reflected in the rhetorical forms of Burke's <italic>Reflections on the Revolution in France</italic> on the one hand, and Paine's <italic>A Vindication of the Rights of Man</italic> on the other. Howell is interested in questioning Habermas's historical equation between the development of a free press and ‘the structure of critical rationality’ (p. 363), and a similar critique of Habermas underlies James Mulvihill's ‘Publicizing Royal Scandal: Nathaniel Jeffreys and the “Delicate Investigation” ’ (<italic>NCC</italic> 26:iii[2004] 237–56), which reads Jeffreys's satirical contribution to the 1806 controversy over the marriage of the Prince and Princess of Wales as symptomatic of the development of a form of publicity ‘grounded in rational critique only insofar as critique might serve as the instrument of special interests, its natural element being rhetorical sensation, its end personal aggrandizement’ (p. 239).</p>
<p>A Habermasian framework also underlies ‘Hazlitt's Essayism’ (<italic>NCP</italic> 31:i[2004] 28–52) by the same author, which seeks to revive the concept of Hazlitt's critical ‘impressionism’ by placing it within the context of a consumerist culture of which his ‘compulsive critical reflex, self-consciously representing his involvement in what he criticizes’ (p. 43) can be read as symptomatic. This complex relationship between involvement and detachment in Hazlitt's writing is examined in David Higgins's ‘Englishness, Effeminacy and the <italic>New Monthly Magazine</italic>: Hazlitt's “The Fight” in Context’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 173–90), which draws on material that was excised from the final version of the essay in order to argue that Hazlitt's ‘sudden interest in prize-fighting’ was ‘an attempt to compensate for his feelings of weakness and personal inadequacy’ (p. 177) brought on both by his unhappy relationship with Sarah Walker and by literary assaults on the Cockney School. The relationship with Sarah Walker is a context also invoked by Duncan Wu's ‘Talking Pimples: Hazlitt and Byron in Love’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 158–72), which suggests that Hazlitt's identification with the Byronic myth as articulated in Byron's ‘Sardanapalus’ helps to explain his seemingly bizarre decision to publish <italic>Liber Amoris</italic> (p. 168). Geoffrey Bindman's bibliographically orientated ‘Hazlitt Against the Law: The Suppression of <italic>Select British Poets</italic>’ (<italic>ChLB</italic> 125[2004] 10–16) traces the extreme rarity of the 1824 edition of the <italic>Select British Poets</italic>, Hazlitt's follow-up to Vicesimus Knox's <italic>Elegant Extracts</italic>, to Hazlitt's decision to include selections from living poets, with which their publishers were presumably none too happy (p. 12).</p>
<p>The continuing significance of postcolonial approaches in contemporary Romantic criticism is reflected in Douglas Anderson's ‘Division below the Surface: Olaudah Equiano's Interesting Narrative’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iii[2004] 439–60), which reads the ‘frustrating narrative discontinuities’ (p. 458) in this classic slave narrative as symptomatic of incommensurable cultural frames of reference. Several of the contributions to volume 34 of <italic>The Yearbook of English Studies</italic> (Seed, ed., ‘Nineteenth-Century Travel Writing’) are centrally concerned with postcolonial perspectives. Shirley Foster's ‘Colonialism and Gender in the East: Representations of the Harem in the Writings of Women Travellers’ (<italic>YES</italic> 34[2004] 6–17), for example, considers the harem as ‘the central signifier in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Orientalist discourse’ (p. 7), but points out that ‘the harem was not forbidden territory’ (p. 8) for women travellers, who were likely to understand it as ‘an analogue for concerns about individual freedom and gender roles’ (p. 9) rather than the epitome of Eastern exoticism. Alex Tickell's ‘Negotiating the Landscape: Travel; Transaction and the Mapping of Colonial India’ (<italic>YES</italic> 34[2004] 18–30), makes use of writings produced in the context of the ‘Great Trigonometrical Survey’ of British India during the early decades of the nineteenth century to ‘foreground ways in which the colonial map can be read as the product of cross-cultural negotiation or translation, rather than an unproblematic descriptive tracing’ (p. 20). The connection between topographical modes of writing and the construction of nationalism is explored in Elizabeth J. Clapp's ‘Black Books and Southern Tours: Tone and Perspective in the Travel Writing of Mrs Anne Royall’ (<italic>YES</italic> 34[2004] 61–73), which argues against the view that there is necessarily ‘an identifiable feminine perspective’ in early nineteenth-century travel writing by women, and Susan Castillo's ‘ “The best of nations”: Race and Imperial Destinies in Emerson's <italic>English Traits</italic>’ (<italic>YES</italic> 34[2004] 100–11), which suggests that Emerson implicitly characterizes ‘his own country as the evolutionary completion of England’ (p. 111). In ‘William Cobbett's Geography of Cultural Resistance in <italic>Rural Rides</italic>’ (<italic>NCC</italic> 26:iii[2004] 257–72) Alex Benchimol identifies <italic>Rural Rides</italic> as a forerunner of present-day ‘cultural geography’ (p. 258) which invites the solidarity of the urban radical audience with the victims of agricultural expropriation (p. 269), rather than being the ‘exercise in politically quietist pastoralism’ (p. 261) which E.P. Thompson characterized it as.</p>
<p>Charles Lamb's work as a clerk for the East India Company put him in close contact with the administrative mechanisms of colonialism, a context examined in Christopher S. Nield's ‘Distant Correspondents: Charles Lamb, Exploration and the Writing of Letters’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 79–94), which suggests that ‘Lamb's difficulty in conducting international correspondence with his travelling friends, presents us with an insight into … the ideologies of presence that govern the mechanisms of coterie formation’ (p.79). This interplay between presence and absence in Lamb's writing is also the subject of Michael O’Neill's ‘ “Only what might have been”: Lamb and Illusion’ (<italic>ChLB</italic> 128[2004] 96–107), a sensitive reading of the essay ‘Dream Children’, and of Michael John Kooy's ‘Lamb the Moralist’ (<italic>ChLB</italic> 127[2004] 57–69), which explores the ethical implications of Lamb's aesthetics. Lamb's writing about London is analysed by Judith Fish in ‘ “A Merry Season to us all, & auspicious New Year to our London”: Charles Lamb and the Representation of a City’ (<italic>ChLB</italic> 125[2004] 2–9), where she suggests that it represents an ironic counterpart to contemporary writing about the picturesque which is intended to deflate the irritating self-satisfaction of the Lake poets (p. 2). Aspects of Lamb's life are dealt with by David Chandler's ‘ “There never was his like!”: A Biography of James White (1775–1820)’ (<italic>ChLB</italic> 128[2004] 78–95), which traces the career of a close friend who ‘became one of London's first advertising agents’ (p. 85), and John Barnard's ‘ “The Immortal Dinner” Again’ (<italic>ChLB</italic> 127[2004] 70–6), which examines Haydon's successive retellings of this famous occasion, with the aim of showing that contradictions between them are motivated by the need to elide Lamb's drunkenness (p. 70). Recent attention to the scientific context of Romantic thought is exemplified by Eric G. Wilson's stimulating ‘Thoreau, Crystallography and the Science of the Transparent’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:i[2004] 99–117), part of a special issue on ‘Romanticism and the Sciences of Life’ edited by Hermione de Almeida and discussed in <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC1">Section 1</xref> above. Wilson draws attention to the Swedenborgian context of Thoreau's interest in ‘ice lattices’ (p. 106), suggesting that crystals for Thoreau represent a non-organic form of vitalism which illuminate ‘three of Thoreau's most persistent concerns in <italic>Walden</italic>: “transparency”, “formation”, “extravagance”, registers, respectively, for “optics”, “organicism”, and “poetics” ’ (p. 111). The political implications of Romantic vitalism are explored in James Robert Allard's ‘John Thelwall and the Politics of Medicine’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 73–87), which argues that ‘the interdependence of the medical and the political as conceived in the 1790s provided Thelwall with a prescription for political action at once emerging from and contributing to the development of contemporary theories of life and health’ (p. 79).</p></sec>
<sec id="SEC4"><title>4. Prose Fiction</title>
<p>Once again, the main preoccupations for this year's work on Romantic fiction were questions of nationhood and historicity, with some interesting sidelights on publishing and book history. Questions of biography and authorial construction also attracted much attention. Overall, male novelists, particularly Scott and Hogg, seemed to have done rather better than their female counterparts, but there was strong debate about Mary Wollstonecraft, and some interesting articles on Mary Shelley were published, most, as usual, focused around <italic>Frankenstein</italic>.</p>
<p>Building on the excellent studies of the past few years, there were several fascinating explorations of Mary Wollstonecraft's fiction, and her religious and literary affiliations. Caroline Franklin's thorough and lucid <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B17"><italic>Mary Wollstonecraft: A Literary Life</italic></xref> emphasizes the emancipatory role of print culture, and offers a vigorous defence of Wollstonecraft's ‘thoroughgoing egalitarianism’ (p. x) against critics such as Gary Kelly who have argued for her distancing of herself, alongside other bourgeois writers, from the lower classes. Through a close analysis of the intellectual and religious contexts of her writing, Franklin stresses the subtleties of ideological difference over broad groupings of class or gender, and offers a particularly strong reading of Wollstonecraft's allegiances to Rational Dissent, and of the multiple connections between Dissenting networks and print culture. Franklin's detailed examination of the intellectual, publishing, and political coteries with which she was connected nicely illuminates her close reading of the works themselves. Discussing <italic>Original Stories from Real Life</italic>, for example, she usefully sets the book in the context, first, of children's literature of the time, and then shows how this connects with theological debate. One of the central aspects of her argument is the importance of Wollstonecraft's own experience—familial, domestic, religious, and literary—in shaping her complex social vision: the Wollstonecraft who emerges here is one who strongly believes that ‘the role of print culture was to question the authority of all hierarchies, and to argue for a community of equals’ (p. ix) and who actively attempts to carry out that questioning in her own life and works. Indeed, the slippery connections between life and work are very sensitively handled by Franklin: the focus here is on Wollstonecraft's literary professional career, but we are also perceptively shown how she fictionalizes and dramatizes her own role. <italic>A Vindication</italic> is read from the perspective of the pamphlet wars, of advice literature, and of her own self-construction; <italic>An Historical and Moral View of the Origin and Progress of the French Revolution</italic>, her ‘most ambitious and underrated work’ (p. 133), is discussed in terms both of her Girondist political sympathies and her idealized relationship with Imlay. Meanwhile, her <italic>Letters from Norway and Sweden</italic> are discussed not merely in relation to Imlay, but also in the wider context of post-revolutionary acts of confession and self-justification, in which personal betrayal becomes part of a larger narrative of betrayal, on a philosophical and social level. Building on Mitzi Myers's work, Franklin shows how the ‘personal and social themes flow into one another’ (p. 158). This is a really excellent, absorbing introduction to Wollstonecraft's work, which emphasizes that her contribution to feminist literature, while rooted in a particular religious and cultural milieu, is nevertheless still alive and important: ‘Wollstonecraft’, she concludes, ‘laid down a tradition of feminism saturated in the word, in literacy and literature, in a participation in print culture and a concern with representation, whose effects are still felt to this day’ (p. 211).</p>
<p>Others were not so convinced. For Julie McGonegal in her article ‘Of Harlots and Housewives: A Feminist Materialist Critique of the Writings of Wollstonecraft’ (<italic>WW</italic> 11:iii[2004] 347–62), the traces of Wollstonecraft's own experience in the text function as a constraint, a projection of her own ‘blind spots’ (p. 350) onto it. In her examination of the prostitute figure in Wollstonecraft's writing, the ‘middle-class woman's uncanny double’ (p. 351), she sees not the egalitarianism championed by Franklin but a limited ‘middle-classness’, which, she baldly claims, ‘thwarts her from engaging complexly in issues of class’ (p. 357). Whereas Franklin, referring both to the research actually carried out for <italic>Maria</italic> and to Wollstonecraft's attempts to work out a concept of imaginative sympathy in her fiction, sees Jemima's story as ‘an authentic and disturbing account’ (p. 189), McGonegal simply sees ‘an undeveloped character … a repetition with difference of Maria's and Wollstonecraft's own suffering’ (p. 357). Moreover, McGonegal righteously notes, these ‘signs of supporting, indeed promoting, a system of class privilege are particularly disturbing because they reveal that Wollstonecraft almost achieves but ultimately thwarts her own vision of a society free from identity-determined constraints’ (p. 359) thus leaving a debilitating legacy to contemporary feminists. The conflicts and ambiguities in Wollstonecraft's vision are certainly a rich subject and also fuel an article by Barbara Taylor, ‘Feminists versus Gallants: Manners and Morals in Enlightenment Britain’ (<italic>Rep</italic> 87[2004] 125–48). Revisiting questions posed by her full-length study in 2002, Taylor directly addresses the way in which Wollstonecraft, as Enlightenment <italic>philosophe</italic>, has been critically fought over, and the issue of her apparent ‘complicity’ with masculine patterns of Enlightenment thought. This article, however, demonstrates how Wollstonecraft, alongside Mary Hays, carefully ‘elaborated her philosophical stance against the grain of mainstream enlightened opinion’ (p. 125). Their attack on the concept of gallantry, and its role in shoring up sexual distinction, is shown to be a flashpoint for British feminist response to the Enlightenment; although Taylor, like McGonegal, concedes that their aims still remain unresolved, she examines their ongoing legacy in a far more generous and positive way. Like Franklin, Taylor is eager to bring out the complexities of Wollstonecraft's position, the inflections of ideology and religion missed by a reading entangled in modern secular conceptions of gender and class.</p>
<p>Another interesting dimension of Wollstonecraft's legacy is examined by Isabelle Bour in ‘The Boundaries of Sensibility: 1790s French Translations of Mary Wollstonecraft’ (<italic>WW</italic> 11:iii[2004] 493–506). Again, Bour focuses on the <italic>Vindication</italic> and <italic>Maria</italic>, but finds a way into understanding the intricacies of their ideological stance through an analysis of the choices made by their French translators in rendering their vocabulary of sensibility. Her article works on several levels: she demonstrates the vulnerability and ambiguity of the discourse of sensibility in the aftermath of the revolution, and its political implications, and she furthers our understanding of the reception and transmission of Wollstonecraft's work.</p>
<p>Wollstonecraft's relationship with Mary Hays, illuminatingly mentioned by Taylor and Franklin, lies behind two other interestingly divergent articles this year. First, Mary Waters in ‘ “The first of a new genus”: Mary Wollstonecraft as a Literary Critic and Mentor to Mary Hays’ (<italic>ECS</italic> 37:iii[2004] 415–34), approaches the friendship from a professional angle. Emphasizing the importance of Wollstonecraft's role as literary critic and professional woman writer at a time when print culture was redefining itself, Waters then discusses how she transmitted these skills in her role as mentor to Mary Hays, ‘the specific, practical advice that Wollstonecraft offered Hays on her relationship to her reading audience and on the public presentation of herself as a woman author’ (p. 417), thus giving an insight into how Wollstonecraft herself perceived her authorial persona. The way in which the relationship between the two women helps them to negotiate gender boundaries also provided the starting point for Laura Mandell's article, ‘The First Women (Psycho)analysts; or, The Friends of Feminist History’ (<italic>MLQ</italic> 65:i[2004] 69–92). Like Waters, Mandell shows how the two women work within male-dominated structures, putting forward the idea that they turn the ‘decidedly masculinist structure of Enlightenment friendship to feminist ends’ of psychoanalysis. She again addresses the issue of biography, this time concluding that our readings are limited not by Wollstonecraft's or Hays's projection of her biography onto her work, but by our fascination with doing so ourselves. Mandell argues that we should read ‘Wollstonecraft's presumed contradictoriness about sexuality as in fact a product of our collective politically and historically conditioned repression. We are still unable to see her system’ (p. 79).</p>
<p>Josephine McDonagh, in <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B33"><italic>Child Murder and British Culture, 1720–1900</italic></xref>, gives a fascinating reading of <italic>Maria: A Fiction</italic> which strives not to systematize Wollstonecraft, but to draw attention to the symbolic resonance of her work in the wider context of Romantic and nineteenth-century literature. Exploring child murder as a potent and unstable motif in a wide range of genres and disciplines as it does, her study is particularly worthy of note for this section, since, rather than becoming mired in the desirability or otherwise of biographical readings, it opens up Romantic parallels for Wollstonecraft's fiction. Reading ‘The Thorn’ alongside <italic>Maria</italic>, for example, McDonagh shows how, in situating Maria ‘in proximity to madness … Wollstonecraft implies a knowing resistance to a poetic response to female abandonment typified by Wordsworth's poem’ (p. 87).</p>
<p>Alongside McDonagh's nuanced literary historical reading of <italic>Maria</italic>, there was a surprising growth of interest in one particular historical aspect of the novel: the legal theme. Adam Komisaruk in ‘The Privatization of Pleasure: “Crim. Con.” in Wollstonecraft's <italic>Maria</italic>’ (<italic>LawLi</italic> 16:i[2004] 33–63), sets the novel alongside ‘criminal conversation’, as a legal and literary concept. Like McGonegal, Komisaruk reads Wollstonecraft as projecting a particular, class-based ideology onto her fiction in a harmfully exclusive way. Both style and plot, he contends, bolster ‘middle-class respectability’ in their marginalization of the servant class: ‘Projecting her own biography onto Jemima’, he suggests, ‘Maria renders class invisible. She thereby reveals the affective community she seeks to be exclusionary in nature’ (p. 82). Meanwhile, Michael Scrivener, in ‘Trials in Romantic-Era Writing: Modernity, Guilt, and the Scene of Justice’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 128–33), also focuses on the divorce trial in Maria, but argues from the opposite direction. Contending that Wollstonecraft does challenge judicial institutions, and uses her adultery trials not to bolster but to attack the moral legitimacy of aristocratic or masculine rule, he sets this within the context of other courtroom scenes in Romantic writing. The importance of the jury, often figured as the reader, in texts by Godwin, Shelley, and Thelwall, is contrasted with the ‘providential narrative’ of Walter Scott, in novels such as <italic>The Heart of Midlothian</italic>, with its emphasis on divine justice: however, he avoids any neat dialectic, and strives to emphasize the ambivalence of Romantic authors’ approaches to the law. In the same special section of <italic>Wordsworth Circle</italic>, edited by Victoria Myers, <italic>Law and the Literary Imagination</italic>, Gary Dyer also tackles this ambiguity. In ‘Reading as a Criminal in Early Nineteenth-Century Fiction’(<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 141–6), he examines patterns of ‘criminal dialect’ and ‘flash’ language in several texts, borrowing, first, from Egan's taxonomy of ‘flash’ and tracing its importance through Scott's <italic>Guy Mannering</italic> and <italic>The Surgeon's Daughter</italic>, showing how it embodies different levels of narrative awareness as the characters overhear or fail to decode cant conversations. Romantic literature itself, concludes Dyer, with its emphasis on interpretative questions and on the role of the reader, ‘is a kind of flash’ (p. 145).</p>
<p>Speculation on generic boundaries and modes of transmission is also encouraged by the essays in Saunders, ed., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B45"><italic>A Companion to Romance: From Classical to Contemporary</italic></xref>. This very useful student resource contains some strong work relating to this period—exploring continuities and differences, and emphasizing the issues involved in interpreting and historicizing romance as a genre. Lisa Vargo traces the popularity of women's Gothic romance in a refreshing essay, ‘Women's Gothic Romance: Writers, Readers, and the Pleasures of the Form’. Instead of the more conventional feminist reading of Gothic romance as both inscribing and performing female confinement, Vargo focuses rather on the ‘liberating sense of pleasure’ afforded by this new genre. Fiona Robertson, in an equally insightful piece, ‘Romance and the Romantic Novel: Sir Walter Scott’, explores the ‘blurred boundaries of the romance world in texts and in literary histories’ (p. 287). Robertson's discussion traces the complex aesthetic and political significance of romance in the Romantic period through texts as diverse as Godwin's <italic>Caleb Williams</italic>, Smith's <italic>The Old Manor House</italic>, and Thomas Love Peacock's <italic>Melincourt</italic>, before looking in detail at Scott's exploration, and exploitation, of the form. His review of new translations of Southey's <italic>Amadis de Gaul</italic>, his own 1804 transcription of <italic>Sir Tristrem</italic> from the Auchinleck manuscript, and his ‘Essay on Romance’ for the <italic>Encyclopedia Britannica</italic> of May 1824 are discussed in revealing detail alongside what Robertson terms his canny blend of ‘romance and anti-romance’ (p. 297) in <italic>Waverley, Guy Mannering</italic>, and <italic>Quentin Durward.</italic> Her discussion of the ways in which Scott ‘made and continues to make readers reconsider such boundaries’ (p. 302) fits together nicely in the context of the edition with later essays, such as Andrew Sanders's ‘Victorian Romance: Romance and Mystery’, which touch on the literary legacy left by Scott.</p>
<p>A similar engagement with Scott's artful construction of narrative, and his effect on later writers, was evident in Jerome McGann's recent essay, ‘Walter Scott's Romantic postmodernity’ (in Davis et al., eds.). Pursuing one of Lukács's own insights, that the books feed off a deliberate and ‘necessary anachronism’ (p. 114), McGann uses it to read against Lukács's view of Scott's ‘renunciation of Romanticism’. Enlisting Scott's self-conscious narrator, Jedidiah Cleishbotham, in his cause, he shows how Scott is ‘urging his readers to attend to the artifice of the work before them’ (p. 121). Arguing for a rereading of the novels’ elaborate prefaces, introductions, authorial sallies, and manoeuvres, he suggests that these link Scott not so much to his Victorian successors, as to the postmodern tale-telling of Pynchon and Flann O’Brien. Whereas McGann tackles periodization, James Watt, in ‘Scott, the Scottish Enlightenment and Romantic Orientalism’, chooses to read across cultural borders, examining Scott's particular brand of Romantic Orientalism—evident in the two late novels <italic>The Surgeon's Tale</italic> and <italic>The Talisman</italic>—in the context of competing efforts to explain racial and cultural difference during the period. Watt concludes that, despite certain imperialist aspects of the Waverley novels, Scott distanced himself from ‘the assimilatory trajectory of stadial progression and improvement’ (p. 108) inherited from Scottish Enlightenment thinking, and instead put forward a more complicated and nuanced view of cross-cultural encounters. Another very good reading of Scott's construction of nationalism, which seems to extend the arguments of this collection, is put forward by Evan Gottlieb in ‘ “To be at once another and the same”: Walter Scott and the End(s) of Sympathetic Britishness’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:ii[2004] 187–207). Like Watt, Gottlieb addresses the question of how nationalism and nationality may be constructed, exploring the subtle interconnection of national and personal concerns in Scott's life and fiction. He differs slightly from Watt on Scott's use of Scottish Enlightenment tradition, however, arguing that he derives from it a vocabulary of sympathy which he uses, in works such as <italic>The Heart of Midlothian</italic>, to urge national reconciliation, and to encourage readers ‘to think of themselves as British first, English or Scottish second’ (p. 189). Jeanie Deans, for example, in her personal appeal to Queen Caroline, ‘demonstrates a keen understanding of the political ramifications of sympathy’ (p. 194) and its use in crossing cultural and national boundaries. However, as Gottlieb demonstrates in his insightful reading of the awkward final chapter of the novel, Scott also draws attention to the dangers and limitations of sympathy—and of his own attempts to use it to further national unity.</p>
<p>The novel is also rewardingly reread by Alan Riach, in ‘The Whistler's Story: Tragedy and the Enlightenment Imagination in <italic>The Heart of Midlothian</italic>’ (<italic>SSL</italic> 33–4[2004] 308–19). This dense, insightful small piece draws attention to the mid-way status of the work, between the optimism of Scott's early novels, and the darker interiority of the later ones. The story of the Whistler, child of Effie Deans, may be taken as darkly emblematic of this. While his father, the outlaw Robertson, is allowed successfully to assume his aristocratic heritage at the close of the novel, the child Whistler is banished to America, to a life of savagery amid a ‘tribe of wild Indians’. The social implications of this unexamined move are nicely brought out, and Riach closes by pointing out intriguing parallels with a contemporaneous review showing Scott's interest in the social exclusion of the monster in <italic>Frankenstein</italic>. Riach's article is complemented by a fine edition of <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B22"><italic>The Heart of Mid-Lothian</italic></xref> from the Edinburgh Press, edited by David Hewitt and Alison Lumsden, and, in the same series, <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B25"><italic>The Fortunes of Nigel</italic></xref>, edited by Frank Jordan and David Hewitt. Masterly critical and historical notes for both these novels, and a full comparison of the first editions with the manuscripts, help to reveal the full complexity of Scott's process of composition. Lumsden, together with Gerald Carruthers, has also produced the first complete edition of <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B8"><italic>Reliquiae Trotcosienses</italic></xref>, again for Edinburgh University Press. One of Scott's last works, suppressed after his death by his literary executor and his publisher, this guide to Abbotsford and its collections is at once a celebration of Scott's own urge to collect and narrate and also a work of fiction which ‘satirises the impulses of antiquarian collection’.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Graeme Tytler's ‘ “Faith in the hand of nature”: Physiognomy in Sir Walter Scott's Fiction’ (<italic>SSL</italic> 33–4[2004] 223–46) strives to historicize Scott in a slightly different way. Showing how the moral development of Scott's characters, such as Waverley or Frank Osbaldistone, may run alongside growing sensitivity to physical appearance, Tytler thoroughly demonstrates Scott's active participation in Lavaterian speculation, and ways in which the moral and hierarchical implications of his physiognomic theories shape Scott's narratives. The way in which Scott's historical narratives might be read alongside those of James Hogg is addressed in two articles. In ‘Writing “by Advice”: <italic>Ivanhoe</italic> and <italic>The Three Perils of Man</italic>’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 32–52) Graham Tulloch addresses the ambivalent relationship between the two, through a careful analysis of their respective modes of composition and revision. The publishing constraints placed upon them, thinks Tulloch, are indirectly reflected in the novels. Compared to <italic>Ivanhoe</italic>, he argues, Hogg's treatment of sexuality and violence in his novellas pushes at the boundaries of accepted taste, and he suggests that this may be due to the differing circumstances of composition: despite being forced to accept certain revisions to his text, Hogg was able to write in relative freedom. A richly suggestive small essay by John Barrell (in Davis et al., eds.) also focuses on <italic>The Three Perils of Woman</italic>. These are stories of both national unity and division, suggests Barrell, which exhume issues Hogg may have felt were concealed by Scott's historical fictions. The chapter traces Hogg's almost obsessive return to the startling figure of the corpse who rises, suddenly starting back to life, as an emblem of historical ambivalence: ‘the resurrection of what we think—even wish—safely consigned to the past, becomes the main means by which the novella conducts its ambiguous meditations on how modern Scotland should regard its violent history’ (p. 135).</p>
<p>These meditations on how history should be regarded and framed, particularly in the context of nationhood, preoccupied many writers on Hogg in 2004. A particularly fascinating article by Karen Fang, ‘A Printing Devil, a Scottish Mummy, and an Edinburgh Book of the Dead: James Hogg's Napoleonic Complex’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:ii[2004] 161–85), identifies in Hogg an echo of Byron's Napoleonic humour, and, in an original turn, uses this to explore his use of French Egyptology, from his first contribution to <italic>Blackwood's</italic>, ‘Translation from an Ancient Chaldee Manuscript’, to the ‘Scots mummy’ of <italic>The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner</italic>. Hogg's Egyptian metaphors, argues Fang, tap into the contemporary craze prompted by Napoleon's North African campaigns, but also work in a much more complicated way to express and symbolize ‘the fierce competition in the current magazine industry’ (p. 162), and his own shifting place within it. Fang's complex and intricate argument helps us not only to understand this trope in Hogg's writing, but to see how it connects with his satiric style, his view of print culture and nationality, and ‘his swings between fact and fiction, hoax and sincerity’ (p. 185). The essays in <italic>Studies in Hogg and his World</italic> were this year similarly informed by the idea of Hogg's resistance to established forms, genres, and conventions. First, Peter Garside's article ‘Hogg and the Blackwoodian Novel’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 5–20) addresses Hogg's relationship with William Blackwood. Beginning by identifying several aspects of the Blackwoodian novel—the focus on the local and the provincial; the experimentation with narrative modes; authorial anonymity; and interest in presentation, for example the emergence of a single-volume novel—he then examines how Hogg stands in relation to the phenomenon, on a personal, a national, and a literary level. Contending that <italic>Confessions of a Justified Sinner</italic> is Hogg's own, unique version of a Blackwoodian novel, he suggests that it turns, in its final stages, into an <italic>anti</italic>-Blackwoodian novel, which takes the games of narration and anonymity to a further level. This was echoed by Tim Killick's contribution, ‘Hogg and the Collection of Short Fiction in the 1820s’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 21–31). Like McGann in his article on Scott, Killick is interested in exploring narrative strategies and games which involve the reader, but argues that Hogg's multiple storytelling modes subtly work against the broad sweep of the historical novel. Whereas the novel, as a genre, suggests Killick, is more interested in historicizing the challenge that the folk tale presents, short fiction allows more room for oral and popular tradition, and he demonstrates the way in which Hogg's stories operate within a wider context of regional, Irish, Welsh, and Cornish tales. This interest in Hogg's short fiction was reinforced in the volume by the reprinting of his fascinating short tale, <italic>Fathers and Daughters No. 2</italic> [1835], edited by Douglas and Wilma Mack. A reading of this would seem to bolster Killick's point that, instead of preserving the popular tale as such, Hogg is interested in maintaining its power, recognizing its ‘need to remain flexible and mutable’ (p. 29).</p>
<p>Murray G. H. Pittock's article, ‘Hogg's Gothic and the Transformation of Genre: Towards a Scottish Romanticism’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 67–75), is again concerned with nationhood and the novel. Pittock is particularly interested by the response of Scottish Romanticism to particular genres, and the ‘extent to which it resists the categories provided by the genres it adopts’ (p. 71): he then addresses this pattern of resistance in relation to <italic>The Three Perils of Man</italic>, and Hogg's sophisticated approach to, and adaptation of, Gothic. A similar fascination with Hogg's resistance to particular narratives informs an article by Sharon Alker and Holly Faith Nelson, ‘ “Ghastly in the moonlight”: Wordsworth, Hogg and the Anguish of War’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 76–89). In some basic ways, suggest Alker and Nelson, Wordsworth and Hogg coincide in their representation of warfare: they both ‘distinguish between ‘just war’ and gratuitous violence’ (p. 77), and both demonstrate a continuing attachment to a military heroic ideal. But, they contend, an important divergence comes in their representation of the effect of combat on the individual and national psyche, Wordsworth finding it more difficult to voice the trauma of the soldier, while Hogg deliberately confronts the individual's experience of aggression, and, conversely, of sympathy in the midst of violence. They see in this, as John Barrell does in the figure of the rising corpse, a desire to recognize and challenge painful elements of national history.</p>
<p>Elsewhere in the volume, Gillian Hughes, in ‘James Hogg and the Theatre’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 53–66), calls for a more sustained exploration of Hogg's attitude to the theatre and the theatrical, emphasizing the close connection between literature, painting, and the theatre during the period, and demonstrating the resonance of contemporary productions in works such as <italic>The Three Perils of Woman</italic> and <italic>The Queen's Wake</italic>. In another short article in the same volume, ‘Hogg and the <italic>Monthly Musical and Literary Magazine</italic>’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 120–5), she draws attention to a similarly overlooked aspect of Hogg's work, discussing the ways in which his reputation as a song-writer was constructed, through favourable mention in this magazine, published by James Fraser, and its publication of his songs. Finally, in ‘Hogg and Angels’ (<italic>SHW</italic> 15[2004] 90–8), Douglas S. Mack addresses, through his reading of the ‘Memoir of the Life of James Hogg’ [1807], Hogg's interest in the complicated workings of providence, and discusses how this might be manifested through the deployment of the angel figure in his fiction: in, for example, the ‘angel face’ of Gatty Bell, or the boorish but compassionate Richard Rickleton, described as a ‘ramshtamphish anshel’ in <italic>The Three Perils of Woman</italic>. In the ambiguous but powerful force of these images, and the unsettling questions they pose, Mack sees the ambivalence of Hogg's relationship to Enlightenment thought: he also sees an assurance that ‘generous acts of compassion and love <italic>do</italic> matter’ (p. 97). Hogg's complicated approach to religion is also explored by Crawford Gribben, in ‘James Hogg, Scottish Calvinism and Literary Theory’ (<italic>SSR</italic> 5:ii[2004] 9–26). Gribben discusses the ‘<italic>Marrow</italic> Controversy’, the fear of antinomianism which gripped Ettrick in 1718, and uses it to re-examine the theological issues at the heart of <italic>The Private Memoirs</italic>, arguing against the confusion of Calvinism and antinomianism in many critical readings. The novel is ‘far more than a satire of Calvinism’, argues Gribben; instead, it ‘harnesses Calvin's epistemology to emphasize the “fallen-ness” of hermeneutics, the unreliability of interpretive conclusions’ (p. 21).</p>
<p>Turning to another Scots writer, there was only one article this year on the work of Susan Ferrier; it was, however, one of the most enjoyable and original investigations of the question of nationhood. Sarah Moss's ‘Recipes for Disaster: Eating and Gender in the Novels of Susan Ferrier’ (<italic>SSR</italic> 5:ii[2004] 27–40) demonstrates the role of food and eating as a key to understanding questions of national identity, power dynamics, and social codes within a Ferrier novel—as well as the codes of the novel itself, by which readers may identify and sympathize with the virtues of the heroine as she negotiates a path ‘between the extremes of appetite and nationality offered to them’ (p. 29). Although Moss illuminatingly refers to Burney, Austen, and Brunton, amongst others, she focuses on Ferrier, making the revealing point that ‘Food is to Ferrier what architecture is to Radcliffe’ (p. 28), and demonstrating this through an analysis of the nuances of gluttony and consumption, the wealth of narrative detail packed into ‘a fine, jolly, juicy, thirty pound round of well corned beef and parsnips’ (p. 37).</p>
<p>There was, similarly, less work on Maria Edgeworth and Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan, than in previous years. A strong article by Dara Rossman Regaignon, ‘Pemberley vs. the Purple Jar: Prudence, Pleasure, and Narrative Strategy’ (<italic>WW</italic> 11:iii[2004] 439–61), argues for the pairing of <italic>Pride and Prejudice</italic> not with the more conventional <italic>Belinda</italic>, but with the stories which make up Edgeworth's <italic>Rosamond</italic> series, aimed at educating children. Like Rosamond, disappointed by the purple jar she has impulsively chosen over a pair of useful new shoes, Austen's Lizzy must also ‘learn to distrust superficial, unexamined attractiveness’ (p. 439), and reject the alluring Wickham in favour of Darcy's true worth. Moreover, the reader, too, is taught how to ‘value’ that worth. Just as Edgeworth, shaped by her father's theories of child management, naturalizes particular value judgements for the children within her stories, so too does Austen ‘manage’ the reader. Susan Manly's welcome new edition of <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B31"><italic>Harrington</italic></xref> also extends our understanding of Edgeworth's thinking about the formation of values and prejudices. An excellent opening essay, while it seriously considers the problems and weaknesses of the novel, makes a good case for its revisionary significance, and extracts from Toland and D’Israeli, together with contemporary reviews of the novel, nicely contextualize and support Manly's argument here. National character is also addressed in an interesting article by Julia M. Wright, ‘National Erotics and Political Theory in Morgan's <italic>The O’Briens and the O’Flahertys</italic>’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 229–41). Beginning with a discussion of the conflict between Humean ‘national type’ and Lockean ‘liberal individual’ which often besets the characters of early nineteenth-century Irish literature, Wright shows how, in the contrast between Murrogh O’Brien and Beavoin O’Flaherty, Owenson addresses Irish national character ‘as a problem not only of history but also of gender’ (p. 233): a problem which, Wright contends, remains largely unresolved by the end of the novel.</p>
<p>Owenson and Edgeworth are also invoked by Paul Douglass in his very readable and thorough <italic>Lady Caroline Lamb</italic>: <italic>A Biography</italic>. Douglass seriously and sensitively considers the literary status of Lamb, deconstructing the affair with Byron which has been the centre of so many previous critical assessments of her, and showing it to be rooted in their mutual readings and rewritings of one another. His excellent readings of <italic>Glenarvon</italic>, alive to the use of song and music in the novel, make a fresh claim for our consideration of Lamb as inventive writer, unpacking her allusive language and reading her work alongside <italic>The Wild Irish Girl</italic> and <italic>Castle Rackrent</italic> as a ‘national tale’ (p. 200). He fully discusses contemporary reviews, and her shrewd construction of herself as an author, and reminds us of her other, largely forgotten novels, <italic>Graham Hamilton</italic> and <italic>Ada Reis</italic>, a ‘work of scholarship as well as imagination’ (p. 245), which Lady Morgan read and approved. Douglass's exploration of the correspondence between Lamb and Godwin is just one of the fascinating sidelong glimpses he provides of literary networks and friendships of the time. He shows Lamb supporting Godwin by buying his children's books and stationery, appealing for advice on Augustus's condition, and for help with her own philosophical anxieties: ‘what difference is there here, between a black beetle and me?’ (p. 244). He also contextualizes and explains her familial and political allegiances, offering a sympathetic insight into her marriage to William Lamb, and demonstrating her loving care for her epileptic son Augustus. While he gives the Byron affair, and all its attendant cross-dressing and crockery-smashing myths, proper consideration, it does not overshadow the biography; moreover, he then shows how <italic>Glenarvon</italic>'s ‘ideas about inverting gender stereotypes’ (p. 217) may have fed back into Byron's own work. His reading of Lamb's <italic>A New Canto</italic> is particularly astute, opening up the full force of her satire, and his frequent citation of her unpublished poems and letters shows him openly enjoying her ‘bubbling linguistic creativity’ (p. 89).</p>
<p>Douglass delicately untangles the threads of biography and fiction in Lamb's life; the distinction between the two, and the way in which a writer may construct her own fictions, also preoccupied Mary Shelley criticism, recalling the debates over Mary Wollstonecraft with which we began. Patricia Duncker, in ‘Mary Shelley's Afterlives: Biography and Invention’ (<italic>Women</italic> 15:ii[2004] 230–49), offers a playful insight into issues of interpretation and inheritance raised by literary biography, particularly in the case of Mary Shelley's ‘hideous progeny’, <italic>Frankenstein</italic>. The story of the Shelleys’ lives is shown to have become as powerful a myth as that of Frankenstein and his creature; within the context of the novel, Duncker explores an eclectic selection of readings of the life of the Shelleys, from the responses of their contemporaries to late twentieth-century feminist approaches. Trelawny's skewed image of Mary as ‘possessed by the green-eyed monster’ is set alongside that of Richard Holmes, whose Shelley, suggests Duncker, is the product of 1960s and 1970s rebellion, particularly pertinent for a generation who ‘took drugs and had visions … became vegetarians on principle … and let our curls grow long’ (p. 237). As this might suggest, Duncker's article is itself toying with the autobiographical, exploring how imaginative sympathy may be created, both within a work such as <italic>Frankenstein</italic> and with a particular writer. Leslie Ann and Walter S. Minot also address the overlap between biography and fiction in their ‘<italic>Frankenstein</italic> and <italic>Christabel</italic>: Intertextuality, Biography, and Gothic Ambiguity’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 23–49). They read Coleridge's influence in the novel not, as is the obvious move, through the <italic>Rime of the Ancient Mariner</italic> actually quoted by Mary Shelley, but, interestingly, through the creative anxiety of Coleridge himself, and through the incomplete <italic>Christabel.</italic> Drawing not only on direct citations in the 1831 edition, but also on what they see as evocations of the Coleridgean poet in the text, through, variously, the failure of Walton's own poetic ambitions, the emphasis on Frankenstein's power as a speaker, and the theme of negligent fatherhood in the novel, they go so far as to argue that ‘Victor Frankenstein is Coleridge, and that the monster created is <italic>Christabel</italic> ’ (p. 24)—with its ‘uneasy undecidability’ (p. 44), its moral and sexual ambiguity. This is a valuable argument, undermined only by the somewhat laboriously articulated parallels of the article.</p>
<p>Two articles tackled the theme of the monstrous and mythical in Mary Shelley. First, Christopher Rowee, in ‘Monsters, Marbles, and Miniatures: Mary Shelley's Reform Aesthetic’ (<italic>SNNTS</italic> 36:ii[2004] 147–69), offers a very interesting political insight into Shelley's approach to realism, suggesting that contemporaneous debates on the anatomical aesthetic—and the nature of the aesthetic experience itself—feed into her theory of the novel. Shelley's interest in representation, here read through the imagery of portraits and miniatures within the novel, is linked both to ongoing discussion of the time about the anatomical precision of the Elgin Marbles and their cultural significance, and to class-inflected patterns of consumption and marketing of art during the period. The perception of ‘the ways in which aesthetic form reflects and propels social reconfiguration’ (p. 148) then leads into a discussion of the ‘reform aesthetic’, as Rowee terms it, actually embodied in <italic>Frankenstein</italic>, particularly in the startling ugliness of the monster. The article is crowded with fascinating and complex speculation, but, like its subject, does not quite manage to bring together its diverse preoccupations—historical painting, body-snatching, the body politic—into a seamless whole. An interest in the body also shaped David Armitage's chapter, ‘Monstrosity and Myth in Mary Shelley's <italic>Frankenstein</italic>’ (in Knoppers, Landes, and Curran, eds., <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B29"><italic>Monstrous Bodies: Political Monstrosities in Early Modern Europe</italic></xref>). Armitage similarly focuses on the ugliness of the monster, but emphasizes its mythological aspect. Examining the nature of myth in the period, he thoughtfully reconstructs its political, cultural, scientific, and literary resonance, comparing Shelley's modernization of myth in <italic>Frankenstein</italic> to works of contemporaries such as Polidori and Hazlitt. His last section casts <italic>Liber Amoris, or the New Pygmalion</italic> as a ‘palimpsest of Romantic mythologizing’ (p. 223), a particularly interesting move: rather than go on to explore the parallels he has thus set up with Shelley's work, however, he then anxiously seems to back away from his own argument into an autobiographical dead-end, disappointingly concluding that Hazlitt's is nothing more than a piece of ‘predatory obsession’ which in its ‘self-pitying disenchantment … did little to redeem myth for his own disenchanted age’ (p. 224).</p>
<p>It is also worth drawing attention in this section to the excellent chapter on <italic>Frankenstein</italic> included in William St. Clair's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B48"><italic>The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period</italic></xref>, in which he calls for more ‘spade-work of basic empirical research, quantification, consolidation, and scrutiny of primary information’ (p. 10) in the area of the history of reading. In his chapter on <italic>Frankenstein</italic> he therefore details its first publication with Lackington, and its republication in Bentley's Standard Novel series; he not only shows the impact of Bentley's procedure on the novel form, but also the impact of his decision not to lower prices, which led to <italic>Frankenstein</italic> going out of print in the 1850s, 1860s, and 1870s, and disappearing from circulating libraries. The popularity of stage versions, often bearing little relation to the novel itself, kept the story alive in popular culture; its reformist message, however, was lost, or even reversed, so that the word ‘Frankenstein’ in Victorian culture became a cliché, used to summon up the dangers of giving votes to the working class, or independence to the Irish. St Clair's ‘spade-work’ thus brilliantly, without recourse to biographical speculation, shows how misreadings and myths can be perpetuated: ‘As events turned out, the Frankenstein story, for most of those who encountered it, conveyed a message which was contrary to the plain meaning of the original text’ (p. 373).</p>
<p>Two original studies brought the history of science, and the concept of ‘pastoral technology’, to bear on Mary Shelley. ‘Composing What May Not Be “Sad Trash”: A Reconsideration of Mary Shelley's Use of Paracelsus in <italic>Frankenstein</italic>’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:I[2004] 79–98), by Stuart Peterfreund, foregrounds the older scientists from whom Victor seeks to distance himself as he matures, the ‘sad trash’, or ‘pseudo-science’, of Albertus, Agrippa, and Paracelsus. The latter, maintains Peterfreund, despite Victor's rejection, ‘continues as a formative presence throughout the novel’. The article argues for a rehabilitation of Paracelsus in relation to <italic>Frankenstein</italic>, first, through emphasizing the importance of his science of affinities, and his contributions to modern concepts of psychotherapy and homeopathy; his use of mercury to treat syphilis, suggests Peterfreund, may well have been adopted by Percy Shelley's doctor William Lawrence. Paracelsus is then used to reconsider issues of self-knowledge, power, and nurture within <italic>Frankenstein</italic> itself, leading, ultimately, to a rereading of its complicated narrative structure in light of Paracelsian reflections on self-knowledge. Finally, Kevin Hutchings, in ‘ “A dark image in a phantasmagoria”: Pastoral Idealism, Prophecy, and Materiality in Mary Shelley's <italic>The Last Man</italic>’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 228–44), offers a welcome rereading of this novel, drawing an intriguing analogy with Foucault's concept of ‘pastoral technology’ (p. 229). Hutchings speculates that Lionel Verney's self-division points to an essentially anti-materialist philosophy of human identity at work in the novel; a philosophy which is itself then questioned and criticized. The article goes on to examine the implications of this self-questioning, divided mode in two ways: first, by suggesting that <italic>The Last Man</italic> provides a ‘conceptual and critical framework for the questioning of its own vexed representation of human history and historical agency’ (p. 237), and, secondly, by exploring how the representation of human history actually works in the novel, through a reading of the emblematic and social importance of Shelley's African plague, subtly associated with racial and imperial anxieties.</p>
<p>Also published this year, but not received in time for review, was Kari Lokke's <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B30"><italic>Tracing Women's Romanticism: Gender, History and Transcendence</italic></xref>. It is discussed in <xref ref-type="sec" rid="SEC2.2">Section 2(b)</xref> above, and will be further covered in this section with material from 2005.</p></sec>
<sec id="SEC5"><title>5. Romantic Drama</title>
<p>This year's review could be entitled, after Thomas C. Crochunis's introductory essay to <xref ref-type="bibr" rid="B9"><italic>Joanna Baillie, Romantic Dramatist: Critical Essays</italic></xref> (Routledge [2004]), ‘The Case of Joanna Baillie’. Now that Baillie has been introduced into Romantic drama studies—the first wave of critical recovery—scholars are assessing her contribution. To engage with her work is to be faced with persistent questions of Romanticism at every instance. Are the plays interiorized ‘mental theatre’ intended for the reading closet or spectacular melodramas meant for the patent stage? Is there a distinctly separate feminine Romanticism that prizes community over individuality? How should we define authorship? The case of Baillie raises questions about what we do in Romanticism, in women's literary history, and in theatre historiography. Do we rely too heavily on production, for instance, in our organization and assessment of dramatic history? Throughout <italic>Joanna Baillie</italic> the contributors ‘explore the unusual case of Joanna Baillie's playwriting’ rather than attempting to mount defences of her work (p. 2). She doesn't quite fit, Crochunis argues; she is ‘ill suited’ to become just another minor writer in the opened canon of Romanticism, yet she is an ‘odd candidate’ for major figure status (p. 3). As a prolific writer, admired by her contemporaries, Baillie is not to be ignored but not easy to categorize. Her work demands our critical attention because, perhaps more than any other writer of Romantic drama, she divides the difference between the canonical poets who were also dramatists, whose poetry still gives us pleasure and who are considered important writers in their own right, and the popular dramatists who heretofore have not been considered ‘Romantic’ at all and have not been studied within Romanticism but in theatre history, when at all.</p>
<p>Baillie's letters contain her life and should be read alongside the plays to understand her, argues Judith Bailey Slagle, editor of the collected letters and author of the recent biography. Slagle uses the letters as signposts in ‘Evolution of a Writer: Joanna Baillie's Life in Letters’ to illustrate Baillie's growth from unbookish child to playwright and poet. Bruce Graver's essay, ‘Joanna Baillie and George Ticknor’ follows Slagle's in drawing upon letters and diary entries by Baillie, Ticknor, and his wife Anna Ticknor to reveal American interest in Baillie (her dramas had considerable influence on New England Unitarians and Transcendentalists) and her desire to build an audience overseas.</p>
<p>In Frederick Burwick's fascinating ‘Joanna Baillie, Matthew Baillie, and the Pathology of the Passions’, both Baillie's research into pathological obsessions and their comparable methods of observation, questioning, and sympathetic diagnosis reveal Joanna Baillie's dramaturgical innovations, particularly her turn from the classical model of the hero battling external opposition (for which she was roundly criticized and accused of ignorance of stage convention) to a struggle with internal, psychological demons, which Burwick illustrates with examples from <italic>De Monfort</italic> and <italic>Orra</italic>.</p>
<p>Dorothy McMillan's ‘Unromantic Caledon: Representing Scotland in <italic>The Family Legend, Metrical Legends</italic>, and <italic>Witchcraft</italic>’ analyses Scottish expatriate Baillie's ‘literary trips’ (p. 72) back to her native land, concentrating on the striking differences between the rather nationalist ‘mist and tartan’ appeal of <italic>The Family Legend</italic>, Baillie's popular, well-received ‘Highland play’, and the radical and critical look at Scotland's recent past in <italic>Witchcraft</italic>, her unperformed and little-known ‘Lowland nightmare’ (p. 83). <italic>Witchcraft</italic> was apparently a favourite of Baillie's and a play that challenges her reputation as polite and inoffensive.</p>
<p>Victoria Myers's ‘Joanna Baillie's Theatre of Cruelty’ is a substantive and rewarding examination of the aesthetics and ethics of Baillie's theory of sympathetic curiosity. She carefully delineates between moral theories of sentiment and curiosity in David Hume, Adam Smith, and Baillie, and shows Baillie's aesthetic development in her ‘Introductory Discourse’ where she is ‘teaching to feel rather than only teaching about feeling’ (p. 106). Baillie creates tension in the aesthetic experience; she reveals the latent aggressiveness in the spectator's sympathy with the character's suffering, and while spectators identify with savagery in themselves they also witness the savagery in civilized society and the workings of authority.</p>
<p>Turning our thoughts to women's influence on the late eighteenth-century realignment of historiography from the monarchical and military to the social and internal, Greg Kucich's ‘Joanna Baillie and the Re-Staging of History and Gender’ focuses on Baillie's frequent use of <italic>tableaux vivants</italic> to depict the domestic and internally subjective aspects of a historical situation. He points out that Baillie's frozen moments tended to be group scenes of communal sympathy (rather than the individual star ‘attitudes’ made popular by Emma Hamilton's performances), which highlight Baillie's progressive ideals for imagining a new social order.</p>
<p>Alan Richardson's ‘A Neural Theatre: Joanna Baillie's “Plays on the Passions”’ discusses how Baillie's anti-dualistic theories of a mind grounded in body, an embodied psychology were pioneering in Romantic theatre but very much in line with the discourses of contemporary brain science and physiology. Using <italic>Count Basil</italic> as the example, Richardson shows how Baillie taught audiences to discriminate among passions by reading the signs on the body and the facial expression, an important component of sympathetic curiosity. Jeffrey N. Cox's ‘Staging Baillie’ also emphasizes the visual in his attempts to resolve some of the tension around Baillie's supposed anti-theatricality, when he argues that Baillie's plays actively use spectacular effects of the popular stage; rather than fighting against the spectacle, she finds dramaturgical strategies in the violence and the stage pictures, using that spectacle to achieve a unified reaction that is rational and moral and brings audiences together in sympathy and judgement (p. 157). Ultimately, he concludes, Baillie's reform measures are more closely aligned with melodrama than with the Romantic poet-dramatists’ agenda to reform tragedy. But her work is finally filled with ambiguities because the very contingencies of stage performance negate the moral and aesthetic closure she desired.</p>
<p>The indecisiveness at work in Baillie's drama and especially our response to it is again taken up in Thomas Crochunis's ‘Joanna Baillie's Ambivalent Dramaturgy’, where he argues that Baillie had ambivalent desires about whether to publish her plays as reading texts or as production scripts, a decision that hinged on how she wanted to be known as an author. For the first time authors could have a choice of publishing their plays before, after, or even instead of production, and Baillie's ambivalence shows in the ways her plays linger between the page and stage, print and theatrical culture. Critics have tried to determine which of the two was Baillie's ‘true’ orientation, which Crochunis informs with discussion of bisexuality theory, arguing for a ‘bi-dramaturgy’ of ‘mixed dramaturgical gestures’ (p. 172).</p>
<p>Catherine B. Burroughs's ‘ “A reasonable woman's desire”: The Private Theatrical and Joanna Baillie's <italic>The Tryal</italic> ’ (reprinted from <italic>TSLL</italic> 38:iii–iv[1997] 265–84) helps fill in gaps in feminist theatre history. Baillie's earliest comedy, <italic>The Tryal</italic> was written during the private theatrical movement of the late eighteenth century, which allowed not only amateurs to perform but professionals (often women) to have a turn at directing and producing. <italic>The Tryal</italic> concerns amateur acting, women having a temporary licence to control their domestic space and direct their own destiny, and thus metatheatrically uses the aesthetic detachment of theatre to raise self-consciousness of social acting in everyday life, the social role of the private theatrical, and women's ‘reasonable desire’ to control their lives.</p>
<p>Julie A. Carlson's intriguing ‘Baillie's <italic>Orra</italic>: Shrinking in Fear’ explores the idea that ‘hauntology’ rather than ontology describes our current being and time. Spectrality positions us between the ‘twos’ of binaries, as does Baillie's unusual situation in Romanticism and theatre history, much remarked upon by the other writers in this collection of essays. Like Jeffrey Cox, Carlson sees Baillie as enjoying and utilizing spectacle as a way of transporting us to a psychic space of sensory perceptions—a ‘before-human’ state that precedes meaning-making (p. 217). Ghosts and theatre both demand the suspension of our disbelief. <italic>Orra</italic>, a tragedy on fear that draws upon the trappings of Romantic medievalism and the Gothic, is uncanny and Orra herself a ‘spectral subject’ (p. 216); it is the exception rather than the rule in the <italic>Plays on the Passions</italic>, a haunted and haunting play that undermines Baillie's usual emphasis on rational morality.</p>
<p>The final contributions to the volume are particularly useful for teaching and researching Baillie. Marjean D. Purinton's ‘Pedagogy and Passions: Teaching Joanna Baillie's Dramas’ is concerned with having Baillie's work studied within broad general education—concerned that these dramas are taught to help students ‘think critically about cultural and cognitive structures that guide behavior and autonomy’ (p. 223), not just to inform them about Romanticism. A course dedicated to the notion of the passions can draw upon the realms of medicine, psychology, box-office marketing, and fashion as well as categories of gender and sexuality. The final discussion of the success of community stagings at Texas Tech University shows Baillie's appeal outside the usual academic circle. Ken A. Bugajski's ‘Joanna Baillie: An Annotated Bibliography’, first published online at <italic>RoN</italic>, offers a thorough and useful compilation of both primary and secondary works that includes significant letters to and from Baillie as well as locations with significant holdings of her letters, and anthologized poems and dramatic excerpts.</p>
<p>Baillie research continues in journals. We’ll begin with Linda Brigham's very interesting ‘Joanna Baillie's Reflections on the Passions: The “Introductory Discourse” and the Properties of Authorship’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43[2004] 417–37). Like the contributors to <italic>Joanna Baillie, Romantic Dramatist</italic>, Brigham tries to understand the historical failure of Baillie when she was so admired in her lifetime; she does this by examining the context for Baillie's development of the notion of authorship, which happened in a critical moment in the late eighteenth century, when legal decisions on copyright revised the concept. Baillie uses her ‘Introductory Discourse’ to construct a definition of authorship that can work for female authors. It counters Burke's aesthetics of the passions, which provide a passive or ‘beautiful’ (in opposition to sublime) subject position for women. In her aesthetics Baillie attempts to open the closet stage to create one more like an operating theatre, where secrets are made public and passions are externalized (pp. 426–7), and she devises a notion of authorship based on ‘design’ or ‘invention’ worked out from common properties, rather than ‘originality’ or ‘style’, cultivated internally by a private individual (p. 431). However, the historical moment worked against her: landmark trials on linguistic property decided on distinctive style as personal property, which paved the way for the Romantic (and our modern) emphasis on originality in authorship. Thus Baillie's construction of authorship was not only not a lasting success, but contributed in part to her own erasure.</p>
<p>Victoria Myers, in ‘Joanna Baillie: Speculations on Legal Cruelty’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 123–7), picks up on Baillie's claim in her ‘Introductory Discourse’ that judges who read her plays would find themselves educated into a sharper discernment of character and would be able to administer judgment and punishment with sympathy and understanding. Looking at <italic>De Monfort</italic>, but extending the argument to all three ‘Plays on the Passions’ of 1798, Myers investigates Baillie's concern with judicial issues of jury competence and capital punishment. Through her theory of sympathetic curiosity, which is surprisingly aggressive and invasive, Baillie stages the practice of scrutiny; while this scrutiny causes pain to the scrutinized, it results in the observer being able to look into another's mind in order to understand and judge them.</p>
<p>Baillie's plays are also being produced now, largely by academics desirous of understanding their staging possibilities, since the plays do not generally feel complete on the page. In ‘Producing Joanna Baillie’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 351–86), Catherine B. Burroughs offers a review of Baillie's <italic>Count Basil</italic> from the 2003 NASSR meeting that also included professional readings of <italic>The Election</italic> and <italic>The Tryal</italic>; the review is followed by a series of reflections on that production from leading Romantic drama scholars and practitioners, who raise the same disagreements enumerated above over Baillie's seemingly contradictory intentions for intimate, more natural performances or for spectacle-dependent productions. In the same issue, Michael Bradshaw reviews Beddoes's <italic>Death's Jest-Book</italic> (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 387–90), which had never previously been performed; as adapted by Jerome McGann and Frederick Burwick, the play was performed at UCLA, Scripps College, the 2003 NASSR meeting in New York City, and at Grasmere.</p>
<p>Issues of dramatic ethics raised in the articles about Baillie are also addressed in Wordsworth's work by Melynda Nuss in ‘ “Look in my face”: The Dramatic Ethics of <italic>The Borderers</italic>’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 599–622). Nuss's illuminating argument discusses the ethical power of personal presence, revealed through the character of Matilda rather than the expected vehicle of the protagonist Mortimer. She argues that staged drama is ‘the form that puts the viewer nearest the position of the visionary poet’ because the viewer is confronted with the object in and of itself and has to have the vision to see it as itself. Rather than as an anomaly or failed experiment for Wordsworth, Nuss sees <italic>The Borderers</italic> as an essential step in his growth, for writing drama shaped his poetic persona and helped him develop his ethical vision in which the ‘spectator could see himself seeing’ which he works out in <italic>Lyrical Ballads</italic>.</p>
<p>The visual as stimulation to ethical action is also central to Sophie Thomas's excellent ‘Seeing Things (“As They Are”): Coleridge, Schiller, and the Play of Semblance’ (<italic>SiR</italic> 43:iv[2004] 537–55). Thomas finds that Coleridge's <italic>Remorse</italic> ‘opens up questions about the relationship of dramatic illusion to the politics of truth-telling’ (p. 540) especially in the famous ‘incantation scene’ of Act III when a painting bursts into flames and causes the transformation of the antagonist Ordonio, a scene of great spectacle which theoretically is oppositional to Coleridge's views on dramatic illusion. Comparing <italic>Remorse</italic> with Schiller's <italic>The Robbers</italic> on revolutionary ideals and views of aesthetic semblance, Thomas argues for the stage as a place to represent things ‘as they are’ in order to inspire reform.</p>
<p>As expected, Shelley's <italic>The Cenci</italic> remains a popular object for analysis. Monica Brzezinski Potkay's ‘Incest as Theology in Shelley's <italic>The Cenci</italic>’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:ii[2004] 57–66) argues that Shelley's emphasis on the incestuous rape of Beatrice (which he largely invented and certainly emphasizes far more than earlier dramatists of the Cenci story) can be read theologically as a critique of the Trinity with Count Cenci as a malicious father ‘whose love demands the unspeakable suffering of his child’ (p. 66); <italic>The Cenci</italic> therefore becomes a sort of perverse passion play. Rémy Roussetzki's ‘Aggravating Shakespeare: Endless Violence in Shelley's and in Musset's Theater of Anxiety’ (<italic>ERR</italic> 15[2004] 493–510) also calls attention to Shelley's violence, but categorizes his and Musset's work as a theatre of anxiety that represents the fear of lifting the veil and experiencing the <italic>real</italic>, the sublime; it also has the sense of the anxiety of influence, since both dramatists are ‘aggravating’ Shakespeare's tragic accomplishments to produce the horror of the unspeakable and unrepresentable. <italic>The Cenci</italic> is also briefly considered in Michael Scrivener, ‘Trials in Romantic-Era Writing: Modernity, Guilt, and the Scene of Justice’ (<italic>WC</italic> 35:iii[2004] 128–33), where he reads <italic>The Cenci</italic> as an existentialist trial in which the spectator or reader must be the juror for an impossible situation. In addition, Shelley's satirical drama <italic>Swellfoot the Tyrant</italic> is studied by Thomas H. Schmid. In ‘ “England yet sleeps”: Intertextuality, Nationalism, and Risorgimento in P.B. Shelley's <italic>Swellfoot the Tyrant</italic>’ (<italic>KSJ</italic> 43[2004] 61–85), Schmid explains that while <italic>Swellfoot</italic> directly satirizes events in England, critiquing Britons’ obsession with celebrity with the landing of Queen Caroline, the drama was conceived in sympathetic response to the revolutionary happenings in Naples and Spain and is intertextually connected to the ‘Ode to Naples’ and ‘Ode to Liberty’.</p>
<p>Byron's drama was represented this year by three journal articles, the most unique of which was Peter Cochran's ‘Harriet Lee's <italic>The German's Tale, The Hungarian</italic> by Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, and Byron's <italic>Werner</italic>’ (<italic>KSR</italic> (18[2004] 175–84). This informative piece discusses Byron's borrowing of the idea of a son killing the enemy for a weak father from the two previous plays, and provides a comparative study of the plays’ humour, plot, and spectacle, to show how <italic>Werner</italic> benefited from Byron's learning from the earlier plays’ dramaturgical weaknesses. Cochran concludes that we should be reading <italic>Werner</italic>, and that it is better than <italic>Marino Faliero</italic>, which has gotten much critical attention in recent years. Kao She-Ru, in ‘Byron's Cain: A Disqualified Champion of Justice’ (<italic>ByronJ</italic> 32:ii[2004] 131–6), joins the conversation about the ending of <italic>Cain</italic>, and argues for a fatalistic vision in which Cain disqualifies himself from the fight and inflicts his own punishment rather than abandon his own conception of justice. In interesting contrast to Julie Carlson's emphasis on the comeback of ghosts in Baillie's work and Romantic theatre, Gordon Spence's ‘The Supernatural in <italic>Manfred</italic> ’ (<italic>ByronJ</italic> 32:i[2004] 1–8) explains the supernatural elements of the play as primarily psychological, struggles with internal demons ‘spun out of Manfred's passions’ (p. 4) or imaginative projections.</p>
<p>In this era of disability studies, the peculiar fragment <italic>The Deformed Transformed</italic> has caught the attention of scholars. Imke Heuer's ‘ “Shadows of beauty, shadows of power”: Heroism, Deformity, and Classical Allusion in Joshua Pickersgill's <italic>The Three Brothers</italic> and Byron's <italic>The Deformed Transformed</italic> ’ (<italic>Cardiff Corvey</italic> 12[2004] 43 paras.) shows that Byron's source-text, Pickersgill's 1803 novel, was more essential to his play than previously acknowledged; in it we can see a precursor to the Byronic hero as well as classical allusions that subvert conventional notions of heroism and question the extent to which a person's identity and freedom are dependent on outward appearance. Jie-Ae Yu's ‘Byron's <italic>The Deformed Transformed</italic> ’ (<italic>Expl</italic> 63:i[2004] 19–21) suggests that we pay attention to the comic spirit at the end of the play as well as to its ironic narrative structure, which owes more to <italic>Don Juan</italic> and <italic>Beppo</italic> than to the rest of Byron's plays, from which it is a striking departure.</p>
<p>Susan Wolfson's ‘<italic>Don Juan</italic> in New York’ (<italic>Romanticism</italic> 10[2004] 131–43) addresses Jonathan Bailey's intriguing-sounding melodrama <italic>The Sultana; or a Trip to Turkey</italic> [1822], based on <italic>Don Juan</italic>, in which an emancipated Haidée does not die but dons boy's clothes and passes as a slave to follow Don Juan. Presented in New York, American audiences could, while enjoying the Orientalist display, perhaps see themselves, discomfortingly, in the Turkish slave marketers.</p>
<p>The website <italic>British Women Playwrights Around 1800</italic> continues publishing online edited playtexts with scholarly introductions. This year saw two new entries: Julia Wright edited Alicia Sheridan Lefanu's <italic>The Sons of Erin</italic> [1812], a play about anti-Irish prejudice. Daniel O’Quinn edited Lady Eglantine Wallace's <italic>The Ton; or, Follies of Fashion</italic> [1788], a play O’Quinn admits is ‘inept’ and was damned off the stage but is valuable for study as a ‘proto-feminist self-scrutiny within the aristocracy’ prior to late eighteenth-century feminist concerns.</p>
<p>A new source for scholarship this year is <italic>Literature Compass</italic>, an online product from Blackwell Publishing. The first edition contained three substantive essays on Romantic drama: Jeffrey N. Cox, ‘Re-viewing Romantic Drama’, Thomas C. Crochunis, ‘Women and Dramatic Writing in the British Romantic Era’, and Regina Hewitt, ‘Joanna Baillie's Stardom: Social Claims, Literary Objects, and Scholarly Lenses’. Each, as the titles suggest, provides a broad overview of scholarship on the topic; they include broad bibliographies and look to be useful sources for both undergraduate and postgraduate students.</p></sec>
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<ref-list><title>Books Reviewed</title>
<ref id="B1"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Barfoot</surname><given-names>CC</given-names></name></person-group><source>‘A Natural Delineation of Human Passions’: The Historic Moment of Lyrical Ballads</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Rodopi</publisher-name><comment>pp. 277. €65 ISBN 9 0420 0809 1</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B2"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Bate</surname><given-names>Jonathan</given-names></name></person-group><source>John Clare: Selected Poems</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Faber</publisher-name><comment>pp. 317. £9.99 ISBN 0 5712 2371 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B3"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Bennett</surname><given-names>Betty T</given-names></name></person-group><source>British War Poetry in the Age of Romanticism: 1793–1815</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Romantic Circles</publisher-name><comment>electronic edition, <<ext-link ext-link-type="uri" xlink:href="www.rc.umd.edu/editions/warpoetry">www.rc.umd.edu/editions/warpoetry</ext-link>></comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B4"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Bentley</surname><given-names>GE</given-names></name></person-group><source>Blake Records</source><year>2004</year><edition>2nd edn</edition><publisher-name>YaleUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. xxxviii + 943. £60 ISBN 0 3000 9685 2</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B5"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Blades</surname><given-names>John</given-names></name></person-group><source>Wordsworth and Coleridge: Lyrical Ballads</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Palgrave</publisher-name><comment>pp. 288. £12.99 ISBN 1 4039 0480 4</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B6"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Bone</surname><given-names>Drummond</given-names></name></person-group><source>The Cambridge Companion to Byron</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 305. £16.99 ISBN 0 5217 8146 9</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B7"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Briada</surname><given-names>Antonella</given-names></name></person-group><source>Dante and the Romantics</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Palgrave</publisher-name><comment>pp. 248. £45 ISBN 1 4039 3233 6</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B8"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Carruthers</surname><given-names>Gerard</given-names></name><name><surname>Lumsden</surname><given-names>Alison</given-names></name></person-group><source>Reliquiae Trotcosienses</source><year>2004</year><publisher-loc>EdinUP</publisher-loc><publisher-name>Walter Scott</publisher-name><comment>pp. 168. £30 ISBN 0 7486 2072 9</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B9"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Crochunis</surname><given-names>Thomas C</given-names></name></person-group><source>Joanna Baillie, Romantic Dramatist: Critical Essays</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Routledge</publisher-name><comment>pp. 304. $115 ISBN 0 4152 9990 X</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B10"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Davis</surname><given-names>Leith</given-names></name><name><surname>Duncan</surname><given-names>Ian</given-names></name><name><surname>Sorensen</surname><given-names>Janet</given-names></name></person-group><source>Scotland and the Borders of Romanticism</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. viii + 248. £45 ISBN 0 5218 3283 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B11"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Deresiewicz</surname><given-names>William</given-names></name></person-group><source>Jane Austen and the Romantic Poets</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>ColUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 211. £19.50 ISBN 0 2311 3414 2</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B12"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Douglass</surname><given-names>Paul</given-names></name></person-group><source>Lady Caroline Lamb: A Biography</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Palgrave</publisher-name><comment>pp. xiii + 354. £16.99 ISBN 1 4039 6605 2</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B13"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Faflak</surname><given-names>Joel</given-names></name><name><surname>Wright</surname><given-names>Judith M</given-names></name></person-group><source>Nervous Reactions: Victorian Recollections of Romanticism</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>SUNYP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 287. £32.95 ISBN 0 7914 5971 3</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B14"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Fischer</surname><given-names>Kevin</given-names></name></person-group><source>Converse in the Spirit: William Blake, Jacob Boehme, and the Creative Spirit</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>FDUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 258. $48.50 ISBN 0 8386 4006 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B15"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Forbes</surname><given-names>Deborah</given-names></name></person-group><source>Sincerity's Shadow: Self-Consciousness in British Romantic and Mid-Twentieth-Century American Poetry</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>HarvardUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 256. £33.50 ISBN 0 6740 1188 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B16"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Fosso</surname><given-names>Kurt</given-names></name></person-group><source>Buried Communities: Wordsworth and the Bonds of Mourning</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>SUNYP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 292. £39.50 ISBN 0 7914 5959 4</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B17"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Franklin</surname><given-names>Caroline</given-names></name></person-group><source>Mary Wollstonecraft: A Literary Life</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Palgrave</publisher-name><comment>pp. 264. £50 ISBN 0 3339 7251 1</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B18"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Gilroy</surname><given-names>Amanda</given-names></name></person-group><source>Green and Pleasant Land: English Culture and the Romantic Countryside</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Peeters</publisher-name><comment>pp. xvii + 201. £30 ISBN 9 0429 1438 6</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B19"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Goodman</surname><given-names>Kevis</given-names></name></person-group><source>Georgic Modernity and British Romanticism: Poetry and the Mediation of History</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 244. £45 ISBN 0 5218 3168 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B20"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Hawley</surname><given-names>Judith</given-names></name><name><surname>Clifford</surname><given-names>David</given-names></name><name><surname>Iliffe</surname><given-names>Rob</given-names></name><name><surname>Dolan</surname><given-names>Brian</given-names></name></person-group><source>Literature and Science, 1660–1834</source><year>2004</year><volume>vols 5–8</volume><publisher-name>P&C</publisher-name><comment>pp. 1,944. £350 ISBN 1 8519 6737 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B21"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Heringman</surname><given-names>Noah</given-names></name></person-group><source>Romantic Rocks, Aesthetic Geology</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CornUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 328. £30.95 ISBN 0 8014 4127 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B22"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Hewitt</surname><given-names>David</given-names></name><name><surname>Lumsden</surname><given-names>Alison</given-names></name></person-group><source>The Heart of Mid-Lothian</source><year>2004</year><publisher-loc>EdinUP</publisher-loc><publisher-name>Walter Scott</publisher-name><comment>pp. xvi + 770. £45 ISBN 0 7486 0570 3</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B23"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Jack</surname><given-names>Belinda</given-names></name></person-group><source>Beatrice's Spell: The Enduring Legacy of Beatrice Cenci</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>C&W</publisher-name><comment>pp. 212. £12.99 ISBN 0 7011 7130 8</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B24"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Jackson</surname><given-names>Geoffrey</given-names></name></person-group><source>Sonnet Series and Itinerary Poems, 1820–1845</source><year>2004</year><publisher-loc>CornUP</publisher-loc><publisher-name>William Wordsworth</publisher-name><comment>pp. 1,024. £78.95 ISBN 0 8014 4196 X</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B25"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Jordan</surname><given-names>Frank</given-names></name><name><surname>Hewitt</surname><given-names>David</given-names></name></person-group><source>The Fortunes of Nigel</source><year>2004</year><publisher-loc>EdinUP</publisher-loc><publisher-name>Walter Scott</publisher-name><comment>pp. xvi + 682. £40 ISBN 0 7486 0577 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B26"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Keach</surname><given-names>William</given-names></name></person-group><source>Arbitrary Power: Romanticism, Language, Politics</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>PrincetonUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 208. £26.95 ISBN 0 6911 1766 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B27"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Keen</surname><given-names>Paul</given-names></name></person-group><source>Revolutions in Romantic Literature: An Anthology of Print Culture 1780–1832</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Broadview</publisher-name><comment>pp. 354. £18.99 ISBN 1 5511 1352 X</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B28"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Keymer</surname><given-names>Thomas</given-names></name><name><surname>Mee</surname><given-names>Jon</given-names></name></person-group><source>The Cambridge Companion to English Literature, 1740–1830</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 328. £16.99 ISBN 0 5210 0757 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B29"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Knoppers</surname><given-names>Laura Lunger</given-names></name><name><surname>Landes</surname><given-names>Joan B</given-names></name><name><surname>Curran</surname><given-names>Andrew</given-names></name></person-group><source>Monstrous Bodies/Political Monstrosities in Early Modern Europe</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CornUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. xi + 304. hb ISBN 0 8014 4176 5, pb £22.50 ISBN 0 8014 8901 6</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B30"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Lokke</surname><given-names>Kari E</given-names></name></person-group><source>Tracing Women's Romanticism: Gender, History and Transcendence</source><year>2004</year><series>Routledge Series in Romanticism</series><comment>pp. vii + 199. £70 ISBN 0 4153 3953 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B31"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Manly</surname><given-names>Susan</given-names></name></person-group><source>Harrington</source><year>2004</year><publisher-loc>Broadview</publisher-loc><publisher-name>Maria Edgeworth</publisher-name><comment>pp. 325. £8.99 ISBN 1 5511 1407 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B32"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Masson</surname><given-names>Scott</given-names></name></person-group><source>Romanticism, Hermeneutics and the Crisis of the Human Sciences</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Ashgate</publisher-name><comment>pp. 264. £47.50 ISBN 0 7546 3503 1</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B33"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>McDonagh</surname><given-names>Josephine</given-names></name></person-group><source>Child Murder and British Culture, 1720–1900</source><year>2003</year><publisher-name>CUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. xiii + 278. £45 ISBN 0 5217 8193 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B34"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Morton</surname><given-names>Timothy</given-names></name></person-group><source>Cultures of Taste/Theories of Appetite: Eating Romanticism</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Palgrave</publisher-name><comment>pp. 256. £55 ISBN 0 3122 9301 1</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B35"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Mulvihill</surname><given-names>James</given-names></name></person-group><source>Upstart Talents: Rhetoric and the Career of Reason in English Romantic Discourse, 1790–1820</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>UDelP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 292. £38.50 ISBN 0 8741 3848 5</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B36"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Nichols</surname><given-names>Ashton</given-names></name></person-group><source>William Wordsworth, Charles Darwin, and Others: Romantic Natural Histories</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>HoughtonM</publisher-name><comment>pp. x + 466. pb £8.50 ISBN 0 6183 1767 8</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B37"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Page</surname><given-names>Judith</given-names></name></person-group><source>Imperfect Sympathies: Jews and Judaism in British Romantic Literature and Culture</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Palgrave</publisher-name><comment>pp. 256. £40 ISBN 0 3122 9570 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B38"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Perkins</surname><given-names>David</given-names></name></person-group><source>Romanticism and Animal Rights</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 210. £40 ISBN 0 5218 2941 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B39"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Powell</surname><given-names>Neil</given-names></name></person-group><source>George Crabbe: An English Life 1754–1832</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Pimlico</publisher-name><comment>pp. 373. £12.50 ISBN 0 7126 8999 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B40"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Pratt</surname><given-names>Lynda</given-names></name></person-group><source>Robert Southey: Poetical Works 1793–1810</source><year>2004</year><volume>5 vols</volume><publisher-name>P&C</publisher-name><comment>pp. 2,624. £450 ISBN 1 8519 6731 1</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B41"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Rajan</surname><given-names>Tilottama</given-names></name><name><surname>Plotnitsky</surname><given-names>Arkady</given-names></name></person-group><source>Idealism without Absolutes: Philosophy and Romantic Culture</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>SUNYP</publisher-name><comment>pp. vii + 262. £32.50 ISBN 0 7914 6001 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B42"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Reiman</surname><given-names>Donald H</given-names></name><name><surname>Fraistat</surname><given-names>Neil</given-names></name></person-group><source>The Complete Poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley</source><year>2004</year><volume>vol. 2</volume><publisher-name>JHUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 864. £56.50 ISBN 0 8018 7874 8</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B43"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Roe</surname><given-names>Nicholas</given-names></name></person-group><source>Romanticism: An Oxford Guide</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>OUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 770. £21.99 ISBN 0 1992 5840 6</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B44"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Rudy</surname><given-names>John G</given-names></name></person-group><source>Romanticism and Zen Buddhism</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Mellen</publisher-name><comment>pp. xvi + 294. £70 ISBN 0 7734 6452 2</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B45"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Saunders</surname><given-names>Corinne</given-names></name></person-group><source>A Companion to Romance: From Classical to Contemporary</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Blackwell</publisher-name><comment>pp. xiii + 565. £85 ISBN 0 6312 3271 0</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B46"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>Saunders</surname><given-names>Corinne</given-names></name><name><surname>Macnaughton</surname><given-names>Jane</given-names></name></person-group><source>Madness and Creativity in Literature and Culture</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Palgrave</publisher-name><comment>pp. 264. £45 ISBN 1 4039 2199 7</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B47"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="editor"><name><surname>Sondrup</surname><given-names>Steven P</given-names></name><name><surname>Nemoianu</surname><given-names>Virgil</given-names></name><collab>with Gerald Gillespie</collab></person-group><source>Nonfictional Romantic Prose: Expanding Borders</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>Benjamins</publisher-name><comment>pp. viii + 477. $238 ISBN 1 5881 1452 X</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
<ref id="B48"><nlm-citation citation-type="book"><person-group person-group-type="author"><name><surname>St Clair</surname><given-names>William</given-names></name></person-group><source>The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period</source><year>2004</year><publisher-name>CUP</publisher-name><comment>pp. 796. £90 ISBN 0 5218 1006 X</comment></nlm-citation></ref>
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</article></istex:document></istex:metadataXml><mods version="3.6"><titleInfo><title>XIIThe Nineteenth Century: The Romantic Period</title></titleInfo><titleInfo type="alternative" contentType="CDATA"><title>XIIThe Nineteenth Century: The Romantic Period</title></titleInfo><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">Orianne</namePart><namePart type="family">Smith</namePart><affiliation>University of Maryland-Baltimore County</affiliation></name><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">Matthew</namePart><namePart type="family">Scott</namePart><affiliation>University of Oxford</affiliation></name><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">Emma</namePart><namePart type="family">Mason</namePart><affiliation>University of Warwick</affiliation></name><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">Jason</namePart><namePart type="family">Whittaker</namePart><affiliation>Falmouth College of Arts</affiliation></name><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">Gavin</namePart><namePart type="family">Budge</namePart><affiliation>University of Central England</affiliation></name><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">Felicity</namePart><namePart type="family">James</namePart><affiliation>University of Oxford</affiliation></name><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">Amy</namePart><namePart type="family">Muse</namePart><affiliation>University of St Thomas</affiliation></name><typeOfResource>text</typeOfResource><genre type="research-article" displayLabel="research-article" authority="ISTEX" authorityURI="https://content-type.data.istex.fr" valueURI="https://content-type.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/XTP-1JC4F85T-7">research-article</genre><originInfo><publisher>Oxford University Press</publisher><dateIssued encoding="w3cdtf">2006</dateIssued><copyrightDate encoding="w3cdtf">2006</copyrightDate></originInfo><abstract>This chapter has five sections: 1. General; 2. Poetry; 3. Prose; 4. Prose Fiction; 5. Drama. Section 1 is by Orianne Smith; section 2(a) is by Matthew Scott, section 2(b) is by Emma Mason; section 2(c) is by Jason Whittaker; section 3 is by Gavin Budge; section 4 is by Felicity James; and section 5 is by Amy Muse.</abstract><relatedItem type="host"><titleInfo><title>The Year's Work in English Studies</title></titleInfo><genre type="journal" authority="ISTEX" authorityURI="https://publication-type.data.istex.fr" valueURI="https://publication-type.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/JMC-0GLKJH51-B">journal</genre><subject><topic>Articles</topic></subject><identifier type="ISSN">0084-4144</identifier><identifier type="PublisherID">ywes</identifier><identifier type="PublisherID-hwp">ywes</identifier><part><date>2006</date><detail type="volume"><caption>vol.</caption><number>85</number></detail><detail type="issue"><caption>no.</caption><number>1</number></detail><extent unit="pages"><start>581</start><end>647</end></extent></part></relatedItem><identifier type="istex">9636853874DAF660319EFA428604DD92867E3F82</identifier><identifier type="DOI">10.1093/ywes/mal012</identifier><accessCondition type="use and reproduction" contentType="copyright">© The English Association; all rights reserved</accessCondition><recordInfo><recordContentSource authority="ISTEX" authorityURI="https://loaded-corpus.data.istex.fr" valueURI="https://loaded-corpus.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/XBH-GTWS0RDP-M">oup</recordContentSource><recordOrigin>© The English Association; all rights reserved</recordOrigin></recordInfo></mods><json:item><extension>json</extension><original>false</original><mimetype>application/json</mimetype><uri>https://api.istex.fr/document/9636853874DAF660319EFA428604DD92867E3F82/metadata/json</uri></json:item></metadata><covers><json:item><extension>tiff</extension><original>true</original><mimetype>image/tiff</mimetype><uri>https://api.istex.fr/document/9636853874DAF660319EFA428604DD92867E3F82/covers/tiff</uri></json:item></covers><serie></serie></istex></record>Pour manipuler ce document sous Unix (Dilib)
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