Imagination was an essential component in the maintenance of morale. It was a coping mechanism, which drew men away from their present, and allowed them to access memories that helped them to feel connected to home and to England - its landscapes, peoples, and places. As subject, not citizen, soldiers their perceptions of England formed around parochial and meaningful visions, rather than abstract ideas like the state. Yet, regulars had a very particular impression of ‘home’, which drew on their military service and soldierly identities. On the other hand, reservists, volunteers, and later conscripts continued to feel embedded in their home communities, albeit mainly in their minds. These specific and personal relationships with the homeland were also nurtured by regimental culture, which, at least in infantry regiments, often preserved and celebrated attachments to a particular county or counties. The distance between men and their loved ones could leave them despondent, but the letters, parcels, and postcards that they received gave them joy and were often the substance of the imaginary worlds they created and fought for. Whilst soldiers did become increasingly embittered by perceived injustices, inefficiencies, and peace talk on the Home Front, it was their more parochial (and positive) visions of home that mattered most to them. Their imaginative realms were not just a source of motivation, they were also a cocoon to which they retreated when dreaming and daydreaming in trenches or behind the lines. They aided their endurance whilst also providing the greatest justification for their continued suffering.

Chapter 3 begins with a reading of A House for Mr Biswas (1961), a work that marks an epistemic shift in Naipaul’s thinking. The novel does for the plantation diaspora what Balzac did for France. After a careful reading of this triumphal novel, the chapter shows Naipaul’s fascination with modernist compositional features in his much-neglected Mr Stone and the Knights Companion (1963). Then, suddenly uncompleted mourning creeps in. The product of that deepening melancholic imagination is his “placid” and poetic The Mimic Men (1967). It is a compulsion towards aesthetic design, to qualities by which a work of art is judged, that take him to a very personal engagement with Englishness where Naipaul takes on the challenging discourse of Romanticism (a poetic register co-existing with the high point of British imperialism). In Wordsworth there is the memorable account of the poet meeting a leech gatherer; in The Enigma of Arrival Naipaul encounters his own version of the leech gatherer even as he begins to understand that “Englishness” was always a learning process for both the colonial and the colonized.

The Introduction turns to Terry Eagleton’s comment on reading Naipaul (“Great art, dreadful politics”) and asks how critics have addressed this quandary about a great writer. It looks at the critical essays on Naipaul by Homi Bhabha, Edward Said, and Sara Suleri in particular to examine how Naipaul’s works challenge the idea of “postcolonial arrival.” The overall thesis of the book is summed up as a reading in which an author “reads us.” To undertake this project, the work is grounded in a systematic examination of all of the author’s published and unpublished works, the secondary bibliography, and material deposited in the Naipaul Archive, McFarlin Library, University of Tulsa. To make a case for Naipaul’s place in global literary culture, there are four key impulses that govern the book. They are: history, aesthetics, textual engagement, and archival knowledge. To give meaning to that achievement, this book is written with thematic unities in mind. Although chronology is not totally dispensed with, the chapters are structured with the aim of establishing connections within Naipaul’s heterogeneous corpus. But for that interconnectedness to succeed, Naipaul followed an uncompromising commitment to writing as an aesthetic endeavour, uninhibited by fashion or ideology.

Germany’s wartime engagement with Shakespeare spurred the British to issue their own, aggressive claims to the exclusive ownership of the playwright. These claims aimed to boost the nation’s morale, unity, and steadfastness against external and internal enemies. Many public outlets presented Shakespeare as Britain’s national poet, characterised by muscular patriotism and anti-German sentiment. However, provincial Tercentenary celebrations reveal that this was not the only version of Shakespeare and nationhood in 1916. In places like Burnley and Manchester, Shakespearean enthusiasts presented local versions of patriotism, which encompassed working-class, northern, Catholic, and industrial identities, different from the official, homogenising notion of Britishness, rooted in an idealised vision of the English countryside. Meanwhile, some Welsh and Scottish commentators questioned the notion that Englishness should be seen as the dominant element of British culture. The range of Shakespeare Tercentenary responses from England, Scotland, and Wales demonstrates that British national identity in 1916 was riven with numerous fractures and self-contradictions.

This is the first of three chapters showing how caricature talk co-operates with characterisation techniques in genre-defining novels of the Romantic period. I give an account of anti-caricature rhetoric in the critical reception of Jane Austen’s novels, from contemporaneous reviews and responses to the twentieth century. I describe Austen’s particular moral concept of caricature as an effect of self-indulgence, first examining instances of the word ’caricature’ in Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility, then close-reading depictions of fat bodies in Persuasion and Sanditon, as instances of literary realism’s ’explained caricatures’.

This chapter focuses on the pairing of popular fiction and imperialism. It takes as a starting point the historical coincidence of the rise of new forms of popular fiction with the intensification of colonialism in Britain during the New Imperialism (roughly from the 1870s to 1914). Examining titles including H. Rider Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines (1885), Richard Marsh’s The Beetle (1897), Rudyard Kipling’s Kim (1901) and numerous others, the discussion treats Victorian popular fiction as both a site where colonialist ideology exerts its power and a site where ambivalences, vagaries and paradoxes speak of a struggle to make sense of imperial rationales. Examining how popular fiction represents history and the individual, landscape and temporality, threat and assimilation and the supposed adaptability of Englishness reveals some of the rhetorical and ideological contortions that rendered British imperialism thinkable to its own prosecutors.

The English have found it difficult for most of their history to separate themselves from a British identity. That is in good part because they created two empires: the empire of the United Kingdom and the more familiar overseas British Empire. As an imperial people, they have merged their identities in their creations. But with the loss of the overseas empire and the possible break-up of the United Kingdom itself, they have been forced to consider the question of who they are and what is a specifically English as opposed to a British identity. Brexit has made that task even more urgent. The problem is the relative lack of a tradition of reflection on English national identity. There is no lack of cultural resources to draw on, but the work remains to be done.

Landscape played many roles in Beatrix Cresswell’s life. Left as a young woman by her older siblings to look after their ageing and querulous mother, she sought relief by walking on nearby Haldon Hill or taking long cycle rides through the Devon lanes, mud and snow notwithstanding. Flower-gathering ministered to her sense of beauty and gave opportunities to connect with friends. She delighted in Dartmoor’s wildness and open spaces, which spoke to her refusal to submit to personal or social constraints. Above all, her ruralism expressed deep-seated loyalties formed early in life to the Anglican faith in which she had been raised, to her county and to her beloved clerical father, whose unexpected death affected her profoundly. These unwavering commitments came together in the central project of her life, a remarkably ambitious attempt to visit every one of Devon’s Anglican churches, which took her up hill and down dale across the Devon countryside. For Cresswell, what mattered most about the countryside was that, in her eyes, it was stable and unchanging, guaranteeing continuity in a way she had learnt she could not rely on other aspects of life to provide.

Britain’s narrowing horizons carried all manner of implications for its constituent ‘four nations’ — none more crucial than a heightened awareness of their separate existence. The Kenyan Asians crisis of 1967-8 was a particularly resonant moment, at once highlighting the no-man’s land occupied by holders of UK passports issued overseas, while subtly magnifying the finer distinctions between England and Britain on the home front. The sudden urge to close the perceived ‘loophole’ of a liberal, capacious, expansive Britishness prompted a resignification of the category of Englishness in a newly circumscribed nation. It was an ingenious, if largely unselfconscious means of discounting the bona fides of those Asian families who ‘beat the ban’ in March 1968, while avoiding the overt stigma of ‘racialism’. In this way, the looser, empire-derived affinities of Britishness could be downgraded without relinquishing the badge of ethnicity available only to the ‘true-born’. But repatriating the frontiers of nationhood in this way raised implicit questions about what ultimately bound the constituent parts of the Union together — questions that would become increasingly explicit as the shared global projections of Greater Britain receded into the past.

The poetry of Edward Thomas (1878–1917) was all written during the First World War, but that war is frequently absent.He is an unusual war poet: an ‘Arts and Crafts’ war poet; a war poet who is focused on home but nonetheless committed to action and engagement with the world; a modern poet at home in the old wars and with the old tunes; a war poet of peacefulness.Thomas’s poetry addresses the war in its own way, directly and indirectly, with its own inclusive, hesitant, honest voice.We can see the uniqueness of his approach by looking at poems like ‘Adlestrop’, ‘The Manor Farm’, ‘The Combe’, ‘As the Team’s Head-Brass’, ‘The Owl’, ‘A Private’, ‘Digging’ and ‘Tears’.Thomas said of war poetry that ‘No other class of poetry vanishes so rapidly, has so little chosen from it for posterity’, but his own survived, and not simply because it contained very little of the war.

This chapter outlines how the travels of Rowe’s Fair Penitent across Kingston, Calcutta and Sydney accumulated meanings related to the theatricality of state and colonial power, the counter-theater of the subaltern, whether women, Indigenous, enslaved or incarcerated, and the need for limits on patriarchal privilege if national reproduction were to be successful in alien settings and on other people’s lands.

E. M. Forster’s friendship with Benjamin Britten reached its creative high point in the Forster-Crozier collaboration on the Billy Budd libretto; tried in this crucible, it remained cordial until Forster’s death. As homosexual artists and public figures at the cultural centre of a homophobic society, they were linked by their shared belief in democratic values and civic freedom, their opposition to totalitarian forces and ideas, and their persistent questioning of hegemonic discourses. With minds broadened and hearts sensitised by personal experience and international connections, they recognised the importance of compassion in all human relations, and were able to address and inspire audiences from all walks of life. Both engaged with the idea of Englishness while rejecting nationalistic sentiment and intellectual bigotry, and produced works which – sadly – remain topical in their denunciation of the toxic aspects of our global masculinist culture. This chapter presents a brief introduction to E. M. Forster, author, critic, radio broadcaster, and public intellectual, with a special focus on how his work and his personal relations intersected with those of Benjamin Britten.

The Crimean War bequeathed to Great Britain the Charge of the Light Brigade, a military disaster, and Florence Nightingale, a long-adored heroine. These epitomes of the conflict are not static emblems of Victorian England. They are lodestones for writing the nation’s past, forging its future, and assessing its annals. Other innovations and personages to emerge from the War also continue to exert their hold on ordinary Britons. The War inspired the Victoria Cross, a military award for valor, which holds its allure even today. More recently, Mary Seacole, a Caribbean-born hotelier and healer, has come to the fore as a Crimean heroine. Beyond the names of battles, heroes, and institutions, the Crimean War offered immaterial legacies. It engendered forms of masculinity and models of femininity, as well as practices of burial and structures of feeling. The notion of afterlife allows us to apprehend the longstanding, varied, and elusive effects of this mid-Victorian conflict. The six chapters of this book trace facets of the war and its legacies as they demonstrate the persistence of an overlooked conflict in the making of modern Britain.

This chapter explains how and why The Cambridge Companion to Shakespeare and Race would have been nearly impossible to create thirty years ago. It traces how the volume requires scholars who know not only Shakespeare’s works, the historical and cultural milieu of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries in England and Europe, and the archives that hold the historical documents from these time periods, but also the history of imperialism, alternative archives that reveal more about the various lives of people of color in the early modern world, and the history of Shakespeare’s employment in various theatrical, educational, and political moments in history – from the seventeenth century to the twenty-first century. Post-colonial studies, African American studies, critical race studies, and queer studies allow scholars to apply new methodologies to Shakespeare and his contemporaries.

This chapter introduces the central claim by grounding it in a range of contexts, beginning with the use of the word ‘Englishes’ by John Florio in 1598. The first section discusses the post-reformation struggle over the ‘property’ of ‘our English’ in the sense of defining character and ownership, a struggle conducted around practices in theatre and translation. The phrase ‘our English’ features only once in the Shakespearean canon, in The Merry Wives of Windsor, where it is set against ‘the King’s English’. This opposition finds echo in staged confrontations, notably around Shakespearean instances of the word ‘reformation’. These anticipate future cultural history and critical responses to Shakespearean practice, beginning with Ben Jonson whose alignment with cultural reformation ideology is highlighted. The exclusionary character of this ideology is pointed out and Shakespearean resistance to it in plays of the 1590s introduced. Specifically, the welcoming of (linguistic and human) strangers urged by Shakespeare is discussed in relation to his status as ‘Englishman forren’, while his inclusive vision of ‘our English’ is considered in relation to the present as well as the past.