The final chapter has two objectives. It first of all traces the performance history of Schumann’s Concerto in the decades after the composer’s death, focusing on London, Vienna, Leipzig, New York and Manchester, and the advocacy of particular pianists, primarily but not exclusively Clara Schumann. It examines critical responses to the work and the ways in which opinion changes over time, evolving from outright hostility and complaints about audacious modernity in the 1850s and 1860s to canonical acceptance and hagiography by the end of the nineteenth century. The chapter’s second objective is to evaluate the work’s compositional reception by exploring the uses of Schumann’s formal and expressive techniques in subsequent concerti, including both canonical music by Brahms, Grieg, Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov and lesser-known examples by Scharwenka, Beach, Stanford and MacDowell.

The Introduction appraises recent trends in Schumann scholarship and reception, evaluating perceptions about Schumann’s instrumental music and the Piano Concerto’s place within them. It locates the Concerto within the critical tendency, prevalent since the early twentieth century, to style Schumann’s large-scale instrumental compositions as deficient in comparison with the piano cycles of the 1830s and the songs of 1840, evidencing the inadaptability of Schumann’s style to classical forms. Noting that the Piano Concerto has consistently evaded this criticism, I argue that the work should be understood as a landmark in the development of what John Daverio called Schumann’s ‘system of genres’: it marks the point at which Schumann’s evolving engagement with the genre comes to fruition, and makes possible his subsequent experiments with concerto form.

Messiaen’s relationship with the press and, to some extent, with the wider musical culture within which he lived and worked, can be divided into the period before, and after, ‘Le Cas Messiaen’ in 1945#–6, in which critical responses to his Trois Petites Liturgies de la Présence Divine and Vingt Regards sur L’enfant-Jésus sharply divided critical and popular opinion. In this chapter, I explore Messiaen’s early reception in the French press of the 1930s an‘ early ’40s, up to and including ‘Le Cas’, paying particular attention to two particular concerns: the way the critics of the time chose to understand his music as a feature in the landscape of the French music of the time, and the way his public persona, including his own journalism, intersected with that understanding.

This chapter identifies certain interesting threads of development in Messiaen criticism from a wide range of published sources, as the challenge of responding to the remarkably original and forthright character of Messiaen's compositions was confronted in the highly unstable context of musical life between 1930 and 1990. This chapter acts to confirm perceptions about Messiaen's central position during those decades, within France and beyond it, and to explain the continuing interest in his life and work during the years since his death.

This chapter posits a revealing “census” or reckoning of the ways in which Messiaen has appeared in musicology in France vs. foreign climes and his presence in concert programming. More than twenty-five years after his death, Messiaen’s legacy in France is still a matter of debate. It examines how Messiaen’s work has fared in France since his death, and how institutions and performers have engaged with this work.

‘God is simple’, wrote Messiaen; here is an aesthetic model for this composer – sometimes called a theologian – that is present in diverse aspects of his music and that receives attention in this chapter. Simplicity is revealed in different forms and techniques, and in his ‘naïveté. It is so engraved in the composer’s works that it becomes almost a caricature. This chapter examines these ideals in Messiaen’s thought, character, and in the critical reception of his music.

This chapter explores Byron’s reception through the lens of the Byronic sense of occasion. Focusing on the history of Byron’s contemporary reception, it argues that Byronic reception involves a transformed scene of reading and writing, and a transformed temporality, which is acutely attuned to a sense of occasion, stretching the moment of reception and production across a longue durée. It is a critical commonplace that Byron’s writing is about its own creation and production, but it is also about its reception. The story of Byron’s reception also tells us about the changing practices of Romantic criticism and culture more broadly. The Byron phenomenon taught its contemporaries to think of the poem as a performance, an event, an experience. It is also a kind of entourage. In this transformed scene of reading and writing, the text’s reception – always already anticipated – forms part of the entourage. The chapter examines how Byron’s works contribute to this sustained sense of the text as entourage, event, and public occasion – in furious conversation with its own past, present, and future audiences.

The introduction sets out the aims and methodology for this study of ‘Wartime Shakespeare’. It proposes that wartime theatre is mediated by networks of production and reception that control meaning and impact. It outlines in detail theatre’s production agents, reception agents, and structures of control that collectively constitute the methodological framework for this study. The introduction argues that a recognition of these networks necessitates a reappraisal of wartime theatre and the critical terminology used to discuss it, including the relevance of binary labelling, such as pro-war/anti-war or conservative/radical. Wartime performances of Shakespeare, rather than offering ‘fixed’ or clear-cut applications to conflict, are malleable and can accommodate a range of different uses and interpretations. This book’s approach is relevant not just for Shakespearean theatre, but for wartime theatre more broadly and, with some adjustment, to theatre during peacetime. The prologue also considers the ‘origins’ of wartime Shakespeare by offering a short account of what is probably the first documented occasion during which one of Shakespeare’s plays was used in direct application to a wartime crisis: the performance of the ‘deposyng and kyllyng of Kyng Rychard the Second’ on 7 February 1601 at the Globe Theatre during the Nine Years’ War (1593–1603) with Ireland.

We have been reading Gulliver’s Travels for nearly 300 years, and we have been arguing about it just as long. The history of the critical reception of Swift’s masterpiece begins as soon as the book was published, when Swift was charged with indecency and misanthropy, though he has always had defenders as well as detractors, a situation that continued into the nineteenth century. In the Victorian period, Gulliver was often sanitised through abridgement, especially in versions for children. In the twentieth century, Gulliver’s Travels has been the subject of numerous lines of academic enquiry, including criticism that focuses on its sources and generic identity; on its employment of rhetoric and irony in service of satire; on feminism and sexuality; on colonialism and politics; and on the histories of science, philosophy, and religion.

This chapter analyses the relationship between the two Plinys by examining how the Younger integrates subjects known from the Elder’s Naturalis Historia in his Epistles. The Younger Pliny adapts the miracle stories to the epistolary genre by selecting individual ones from his uncle’s long lists. One elaborate example replaces scientific completeness and remains in the readers’ mind because of its emotional value for Pliny and the addressee. By presenting the miracles of Italy (a volcanic eruption, dolphins, lakes, and fountains in Ep. 4.30; 6.16; 6.20; 8.20; 9.33) and repeatedly highlighting his close relationship with his hometown Comum, Pliny shows alternatives to the wondrous phenomena of the world described in the Naturalis Historia and thereby distinguishes himself from his uncle. The Younger Pliny also reflects his uncle’s habit of writing at night (lucubratio) and serving the emperor by day. The chapter shows that the Younger Pliny choses his own time of day to write literature and unite the claims of otium and negotium, of leisure and work, which have a different importance for the two Plinys. In doing so, the Younger Pliny also underlines the differences that arise from his senatorial career and his uncle’s military success.

This penultimate chapter introduces two complete editions of the Lives. The first was published in 2006 by Oxford University Press and the second in 2010 by Yale. The value of these editions is the attention they bring to the textual details of Johnson’s critical writing; they promote accuracy in dealing with his terminology. Evaluating Johnson’s criteria depends on such detail. The editions invite us to look more closely at the implicit meanings within the overall structure. They are of course very different and suggest different editorial cultures. The Oxford is very ample in its commentary; the Yale annotation is leaner and conforms in editorial style to the Works to which it belongs. Different users will find merits in both approaches, and a final preference is difficult to determine given the different ways in which Johnson’s critical and biographical writings are read or used. But both editions, in their ambition and magnitude, suggest the persistent presence of Johnson’s critical writing and are crucial to its reception.

This chapter considers Puccini complicated relationship with the musical canon, or rather with two canons. The author argues that while Puccini’s works stand at the apex of the performing canon, they have been denied entry to the scholarly canon, a body of works deemed historically significant and of high artistic worth. The chapter traces how Puccini’s operas established their place in the international operatic repertory (observing different regional patterns), via stage performances, publisher promotion, and recordings, to the point where they became pre-eminent. The author then turns to examining Puccini’s critical fortunes and evolving reputation among music historians across the course of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first. She explains how Puccini has been castigated as a derivative, overly sentimental composer who appealed to ‘the wrong people’ and did not deserve a place in the history books, though his reputation was to some extent rehabilitated by the end of the twentieth century, finally regarded as worthy of serious scholarly analysis. In recent years, however, Puccini has become the target of calls to dismantle the canon and his works have been criticised for their treatment of gender, sexual violence, race, and class.

The essay sketches the development of W.G. Sebald’s poetry from its beginnings in the mid-1960s through the unpublished writings of the 1970s, the 1980s long poem Nach der Natur (After Nature), and the poems written for the volumes For Years Now and Unerzählt (Unrecounted) shortly before his death. The first section introduces Sebald the poet with several general remarks, touching on a poem from the 1960s, passages from Nach der Natur (After Nature) and two poems from the 1990s. This is followed by sections illustrating effects of the non-simultaneous reception of After Nature in German and English and considering the influence of Southern German, Austrian and Swiss prose on the language of Sebald’s poetry. The final section visits the poet’s ‘lyrical workshop’, in other words the development of his poetry in manuscript form between the 1960s and mid-1980s, and the integration of a significant part of the manuscript ‘Across the Land and the Water’ into the final two sections of After Nature. The essay concludes that Sebald wrote poems throughout his life, and that it is likely he would have published further volumes of poetry had he lived longer.

This essay focuses on Ancrene Wisse and the Ancrene Wisse Group of which this work is part. Ancrene Wisse survives in a significant number of manuscripts, and its place within the literary tradition of medieval women in England seems uncontroversial. However, nineteenth- and twentieth-century editors, many of whom were men, tended to focus on the linguistic significance of these texts, paying little attention to their gendered devotional context. They also placed much greater emphasis on speculation concerning the identity of the male author of Ancrene Wisse than on examining the role of its immediate audience in shaping the work addressed to them. Women scholars working on the Ancrene Wisse Group have, in contrast, tended to be more aware of the importance of the material in relation to the history of womenߣs anchoritism and more open to the possibility of womenߣs authorship of some of the works within this group. The essay suggests that Ancrene Wisse had an expansive direct and indirect influence not only on later texts but also on womenߣs devotional traditions, which, Sauer suggests, may also have extended beyond England.

This essay explores the insights into female authorship offered by Julian of Norwichߣs Revelations of Divine Love. While we know very little of this figure, external evidence clearly identifies her as an anchoress celebrated for her holiness and spiritual guidance, and she is the first woman writer to use English who can be identified. Windeatt explores the distinctive witnesses to medieval womenߣs literary culture offered by the two extant texts of the Revelations. The shorter version, almost certainly earlier, is explicit about its female authorship, but reflects no particularly female approach. The longer version, by contrast, suppresses reference to female authorship but develops a uniquely woman-centred exposition of deep theological sophistication that suggests extensive learning. The afterlife of Julianߣs Revelations sustains the process of editing, as the short text finds its way into an anthology while excerpts of the Long Text are woven into a florilegium probably for nuns, whilst post-medieval communities of nuns ensure the survival of Julianߣs book.

This essay considers the influence and reception of the writings of Christine de Pizan, whose career was caught up in the Anglo-French conflict of the Hundred Yearsߣ War, as illustrated by her LߣEpistre dߣOthéa, a didactic treatise on chivalry and virtue, and her autobiographical LߣAdvision Christine. Warren explores the shifting significance of the Othéa during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, showing that Stephen Scropeߣs English translation reduced female agency and power, changes that reflected wider cultural anxieties concerning female lineage and virtue in the context of Lancastrian claims to the throne. The essay also explores Christineߣs connections to two other powerful women: Joan of Arc and Margaret of Anjou. By reworking Christineߣs treatments of women to reduce their political power and independent wisdom, translators of Christineߣs works also contained the political threats represented by powerful women. Strikingly, depictions of Christine as author shift her context from the court to the cloister, reaffirming traditionally gendered views of women even while her works continued to be circulated in England.

Historically condemned for their commercial exploitation of poesy, and threat to authorial autonomy, the literary anthology was nevertheless one of the signal forms of literary modernism, in the US and beyond. It was at once a salient means for circulating and preserving verse and a genre in its own right. Although the little magazine has been the more attractive genre of study – both for the form’s closer proximity to collaborative literary production and for their amenability to digital scholarly methods – the anthology often had a symbiotic relationship to little magazines in the modernist period, and has endured as a form for aesthetic and political self-identification, speculative interpellation, preservation, and reclamation, as well as being a mode of reaching audiences beyond the “field of restricted production.” This chapter traces the US career of the anthology from Des Imagistes to An “Objectivists” Anthology, emphasizing the genre’s key importance for Black American writing.

The Introduction situates Plutarch in his literary context, as a vivid and original thinker and writer whose popularity remains enormous, as well as his historical context as an innovator in the writing of biography. Some authors discuss Plutarch’s role in the development of the biographical tradition and his relationship to the classical Greek past. Others examine his Roman context as a Greek living in an occupied country, and his views on politics, particularly those involving barbarians or "others." Multiple essays illuminate Plutarch’s relationship to Plato and Platonism, often in the context of his influence on education, while other essays look at Plutarch in his everyday life, investigating his thoughts on gender, sexuality, wealth, and animals. Five essays focus on reception.