If few historians of the French ancien régime and Revolution entirely ignore the role of the Church, most treat it perfunctorily and many make crass errors in writing about it. To start with examples of error, J. F. Bosher declared in his generally admirable The French Revolution: ‘at least nine abbots wrote for the Encyclopédie’. Actually, at least twenty-three abbés did so, but no abbots. J. C. D. Clark, in his recent edition of Burke's Reflections, attempts to explain Burke's discussion of French commendatory abbots by defining commendam as it was used in England, which makes Burke's argument incomprehensible. Until now it has not been easy to find a work, at any rate in English, which would settle such matters authoritatively. McManners's Church and society in eighteenth-century France will certainly do that. A delightful chapter deals with the vast majority of abbés who were not abbots, that is, those who had taken the very first steps towards an ecclesiastical career, probably to enhance their educational prospects, but never taken vows or significant orders. To this group belonged such notorious philosophes as the abbé Diderot and the abbé Raynal.

At least since Carl Schorske published Fin-de-siècle Vienna in 1981, the cultural explosion of Vienna 1900 has attracted the attention of scholars in many fields. Yet, the glittering imperial capital also incubated the Social Darwinian racist vision of Adolf Hitler, and Vienna's modern music, literature, and visual arts could not prevent the melting away of the Habsburg state at the close of the First World War. The five books under review explore the last years of the Habsburg Monarchy. The authors look beyond familiar topics, question basic scholarly assumptions, and provide fresh perspectives on the monarchy's final decade.

The professionalization of history in Ireland resulted from the 1930s effort of T. W. Moody and R. Dudley Edwards to fuse writing on Irish history with a received version of the history of early modern England. This enterprise enhanced the academic standing of work on early modern Ireland, but it also insulated professional history in Ireland from the debates that enlivened historical discourse in England and continental Europe. Those who broke from this restriction, notably D. B. Quinn, Hugh Kearney, and Aidan Clarke, made significant contributions to the conceptualization of the histories of colonial British America, early modern England, and Scotland. These achievements were challenged by the New British History turn which, for the early modern period, has transpired to be no more than traditional English political history in mufti. None the less, writing on the histories of Ireland, Scotland, and colonial British America has endured and even flourished. Such endeavour has succeeded where the focus has been on people rather than places, where authors have been alert to cross-cultural encounters, where they have identified their subject as part of European or global history, and where they have rejected the compartmentalization of political from social and economic history. The success of such authors should encourage practitioners of both English history and the New British History to follow their examples for the benefit of endeavours which will always be complementary.

Since the 1960s it has been claimed that diplomatic history is in decline – upstaged over the decades by more fashionable subjects like social, gender, or cultural history. However, Clio's anaemic patient is alive and kicking as the four books to be reviewed here all clearly show. This renaissance is in some ways due to a modernization process which proves the inherent flexibility of the subject. Diplomatic historians have adopted new methods for their work by amalgamating cultural, semiotic, and anthropological ideas as well as by going global through multiarchival research. Admittedly these progressive developments are still at an early stage, yet Johannes Paulmann's thought-provoking Pomp und Politik which analyses the subtext of ceremonies and symbolic behaviour among monarchs, could be used as an excellent guideline for further studies in this field.

In the last eighty years, an enormous amount of scholarly attention has been devoted to explaining why Europe was at the centre of two cataclysmic conflicts in the first half of the twentieth century. The books considered here represent part of a resurgence of interest in British foreign policy in the interwar period and are primarily concerned with the policy of reconciliation towards the former Central Powers after the First World War, especially the appeasement of Germany. They offer a further opportunity to challenge the still-held misapprehension that appeasement was a strand of British policy that only appeared after Hitler's rise to power. They also offer a means of examining British foreign policy through sources inside and outside the government. Gordon Martel's volume illustrates the amount of journalistic pressure that was put on the British government to recognize and act on the likely threats to international peace. Austen and Neville Chamberlain, the sons of the great nineteenth-century Conservative politician, Joseph Chamberlain, were at the centre of the British foreign policy making process during the interwar period. Indeed, Robert Self's two volumes of letters written by Neville Chamberlain to his sisters illustrate how steeped in foreign and domestic politics the whole Chamberlain family was. Richard Grayson sees a long, unbroken attempt to accommodate Germany diplomatically starting with Austen Chamberlain and the treaty of Locarno. The importance of Neville Chamberlain's contribution to the history of British foreign policy is offered further recognition through surveys of the historiography of his premiership by David Dutton and Robert Caputi.

There are four presidents carved on Mount Rushmore: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt. The case of George W. Bush would seem to suggest that modern Americans do not like their presidents to be complex. If so, among the granite faces, only Washington and Roosevelt answer to this need. The former possessed what his admirers called republican simplicity, what his enemies (and even some personal friends) thought might be a lack of intellectual nimbleness. The latter had a violence of conviction so wondrous in its clarity that numerous psychologists have been enlisted to find something beneath its surface. Jefferson, by contrast, was dizzyingly complex, but he is also inaccessible, especially to modernists who find an eighteenth-century sensibility eerily polished and cold. Abraham Lincoln, however, was satisfyingly messed up. A broken family, a lost lover, an unhappy marriage, dead children, plus years of thwarted ambition, nightmares, melancholy, and suicidal impulse, all combine to make a man of nervous inadequacy, someone whom Oprah Winfrey would be glad to have back, again and again, as an icon of the perennial crises of masculinity.

In July 1768, the Boston merchant John Amory paid cash for two bills of exchange sold to him by a certain Mr Mumford. These bills, valued at £279 4s 3d and £342 10s, had originally been drawn on the London commission house of Lascelles and Daling by two Barbados merchants trading in partnership as Stevenson and Went. The bills were drawn in favour of another merchant called Charles Wickham. Stevenson and Went were in the business of supplying slaves to sugar planters on credits of up to twelve months, but as soon as their slave shipments arrived, however, the partners' own obligations to the merchants and mariners who had fitted out their vessels and supplied them with cargo fell due. To overcome this remittance problem, Lascelles and Daling acted as the slave importers' guarantors by agreeing to accept their bills before receiving the funds needed to pay them. A bill drawn on a sound London house was considered good for payment in any Atlantic port, including Rhode Island where Wickham was based. The bills presented to Lascelles and Daling were due at twelve months' sight, but creditors such as Wickham did not have to wait a full year before receiving their money. Wickham endorsed the bills in favour of Mumford (probably a coastal mariner to whom he owed a debt), who in turn passed them on to Amory. With balances owing in London, Amory was happy to discount the two bills for cash, judging this a better option at the current rate of exchange than sending specie or merchandise across the Atlantic. And cash is what Mumford would have needed to pay his crew members.

The history of consumption in nineteenth-century Britain has largely been told as the story of the middle classes. Increasingly, as the three books under review demonstrate, the reverse is also true. The middle classes, they argue, derived their identities in significant measure from their consumerist habits rather than their relation to the means of production or the body politic. That was, as one might imagine, especially the case with women. What they bought, how they shopped, where they lived: these things came to define who a person was. How dramatically the literature on the Victorian middle classes has changed is apparent even from this brief description. Most obviously, the research focus has shifted from structures to identities. The old subjects – the professions, the movements (free trade, the franchise, anti-slavery), evangelical religion – are hardly anywhere to be seen in these volumes. Instead, they take up topics more often associated with French history: urban culture, shopping, interior decoration. With this shift in subjects has also come, either implicitly or explicitly, a sense that the defining characteristics of the British middle classes must be sought in the realm of culture, not politics or production.

Study of French political history for the period of 1789 to 1851 is exceedingly complex. Not only must one possess knowledge of a succession of regimes (with their varying constitutions, institutions, laws, and conventions), one must also grasp the essentials of political traditions such as royalism, republicanism, and liberalism, all of which altered over time, and familiarize oneself with a plethora of groups or sub groups, such as Montagnards and Girondins, authoritarian and Revolutionary Bonapartists, moderate and ultra royalists, that often adjusted their beliefs and positions according to circumstance. Matters become further complicated when one takes foreign relations into account, assessing the impact of France abroad or the role of foreign relations in shaping French domestic politics.