Using Mark Salber Phillips’s concept of historical distance to defamiliarize our ideas about proximity in historical representation, Chapter 5 examines the sensation novel’s innovations with temporal and spatial immediacy to illuminate its rendering of modernity as rife with incongruous affects. Reading Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret (1862) and Aurora Floyd (1863), this chapter shows that the sensation novel characterizes the present in terms of affective excess, drawing into focus a perpetual tension between forces of attraction and repellence, captivation and alienation in contemporary life. Moving beyond critical readings that try to decide the question of Braddon’s subversion or reinforcement of social norms, I contend that her fiction keeps the affective incongruities of the heroines case in play in order to articulate the extreme contradictions that characterize the forms of belonging governing contemporary experience.

I situate the notion of “natural technology” within the wider view of technology’s relation to human history and values. I offer a brief (original) theory of technology as such, focusing on two themes. First, I take issue with the claim that “technology” has independent causal force. The progress of technology is not inevitable, but each new tool reconfigures our understanding of possibility and necessity. Nor is technology something external to our nature or to who we “really” are. I show how our modern conceptions of equality and human rights rest on and are enabled by industrialization. Second, I show that we nonetheless have the sense that technology is an independent force because of the disparity between technological time (the time it takes for watershed discoveries to be made) and “normal” or moral time (the time it takes for such discoveries to be widely stabilized within settled norms and practices). Anxiety about the effects of “technology” as such is a longstanding feature of modernity, stemming from the continuing acceleration of technological time with respect to normal time. The development of modern technology entails permanent culture wars and a permanent sense of estrangement between us and our new tools.

No other institution wielded comparable transnational power over such a large body of the Irish diaspora than the Catholic Church, yet it was riven with internal divisions over the questions of land and labour during the 1880s, and its grip on Irish popular opinion was increasingly strained and contingent. In this chapter, the relationship of the Church to questions of land reform is discussed, particularly its role in sustaining radical critiques of liberal modernity and capitalism. It discusses the importance of priests to the Land League, and the challenges faced by the Catholic hierarchy in both Ireland and the United States to contain and direct the force of Irish land and labour radicalism. The chapter also looks closely at Henry George’s relationship with the religiosity, his use of theological arguments, and his tensions with the Catholic Church in the United States.

Victorian sexual norms, though organized around reproductive marriage, were by no means limited to that practice. The Introduction argues that it was common in the period to consider sexual restraint – whether lifelong or temporary – to be productive of health, wellbeing, and energy that could be given to non-sexual endeavours such as religious feeling or art. This idea was found in diverse contexts, underpinned by various models of bodily function, and across the political spectrum. The Introduction outlines the place this productive continence held in an alternative Decadent tradition to that usually explored by Decadent Studies. Far from being incompatible with the embodied pleasure that was so important to Decadent aesthetics, restraint was repeatedly imagined to facilitate such experience, and to answer to the anxieties that many writers associated with the supposed ugliness, degeneration, over-crowding, and haste of the modern world. The Introduction outlines the methodological challenges of its subject and the book’s relationship with other theoretical approaches to sexuality in literature, such as Psychoanalysis, Queer Studies, Gender Studies, and the History of Ideas.

This chapter considers Alexis Wright’s trajectory as a writer from Grog War (1997) to The Swan Book (2013), arguing that her body of work presents a consistent vision that is “at once Aboriginal and Australian, modern and ancient, local and yet outward-looking.” It pays special attention to the notion of “all times,” the relation between form and politics, and how imaginative sovereignty underpins Wright’s work.

Outlining the historical scope of the book, this chapter discusses Shakespeare’s and Beckett’s works in periods that were conceived of as inherently transformational. The chapter will address the early links between Shakespeare and Beckett that were established in British theatre history. The second part of this chapter will read the scenes on Dover cliff in Act IV of King Lear as a metaphor for the theatre in which both Beckett and Shakespeare explore the edges of their very medium. This latter part examines Beckett’s ‘variations on rise and fall’ in many of his plays, such as All that Fall, Rough for Theatre and Waiting for Godot – which, in dialogue with King Lear, dramatize the experience of blindness, crawling and falling.

Premiered in Berlin, but composed in Paris, Arthur Honegger’s Mouvement symphonique n° 3 was a commission for the Berlin Philharmonic, and Chapter 5 deals with its reception, bringing the book back to its two major European centres. For reviewers, Swiss-German Honegger’s work, the third in a trio of symphonic movements that began with Pacific 231 and Rugby, was unambiguously neither French nor German, and it reveals mechanisms by which commentators sought either to assimilate the work with, or expel it from, Germanic idealist aesthetic traditions. Despite the work’s ‘sober and unprepossessing’ title, this chapter suggests that Mouvement symphonique n° 3 had a critical political programme – even if programmatic aspects were barely acknowledged in the critical reception. Manipulating the symphonic form, and referencing Beethovenian subjective narratives in particular, the work considers the changing relationship between the individual and the collective within a tumultuous era of political and industrial/technological upheaval, ultimately lamenting over the ruins of both the symphony and the utopian political project it represented.

Grounded in Katznelson’s theory of political identity formation, this chapter examines how the Catholic Church and Islamic actors have created respective religious political identities in response to the rise of modernity, secularism, and brewing anti-religion sentiment in Western Europe and the Middle East. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, anticlerical attacks, secularization of public education, and adoption of secularism as a principle of government generated a strong reaction from the Church in Western Europe and religious leaders throughout the Middle East. In response, religious actors – both Catholic and Islamic – mobilized around the idea that no part of human existence lay outside the scope of religion. The emergence of Catholic mass movements in nineteenth-century Western Europe and Islamist movements in the twentieth-century Middle East represents the manifestation of this pushback against anticlerical and anti-religion attacks. This chapter offers a comparative account of the emergence of religious political identities in Catholic and Islamic contexts, leaving country-specific discussion of the rise of these identities to the following chapters.

Regarding this Lefebvrian framework, the political struggles of the 1940s and the early 1950s in Tehran pose significant questions that this chapter seeks to examine. After decades of spatial abstraction and the (re)production and development of the city through abstract spaces, how did the people of Tehran transform state spaces into a political arena to contest the hegemony of the state? What was the relationship between spaces of daily life produced in the Reza Shah era and the new spaces of protest in Tehran? Why did people choose the new streets and squares of the city for protesting against the monarchy? Why did they not take bast in the mosques of the old city as they did in the constitutional era? To analyze this spatial shift, this chapter scrutinizes political groups and forces of this era and their political gatherings, protests, demonstrations, and parades in public spaces of Tehran. This examination suggests a dynamic political scene that cannot be dichotomized into the conventional binary opposition of people against the state, as was examined during the constitutional era.

The chapter offers a reassessment of Tolstoy’s views on the role of science and technology in human life. Both in his time and in current scholarship Tolstoy has often been charged with being a Luddite. While indeed critical of some modern technologies, such as trains, Tolstoy was enthusiastic about others, such as bicycles, photography, and phonographs. Tolstoy’s attitude toward his era’s unprecedented technological advances might seem contradictory, but, as this chapter demonstrates, his acceptance of some modern technologies and rejection of others was in fact consistent with his philosophy of life and the place of creativity in it. When approached holistically, Tolstoy’s writings evince his thoughtful and sophisticated understanding of modern technology that presages some of the most influential theories of technology developed in the twentieth century.

According to Carpentier, Columbus rounded, rounded off, and rounded up the planet at a very high cost for the Indigenous cultures of nuestra América (our America). Gradually, a new culture emerged from all the possible hybridizations of Europe, Africa, and Asia. Carpentier also stated that, in order for the novel to exist, there had to be a tradition: the first narratives were for domestic consumption, and it was not until the mid-twentieth century that the avalanche began with El reino de este mundo (The Kingdom of This World) and Los pasos perdidos (The Lost Steps). It was in effect the return to Europe of the galleons that once left Palos de Moguer in Spain, but now carrying another, different, culture. Several factors contributed to Carpentier’s awakening in postwar Europe: the dominance of fiction, somewhat exhausted by the weight of tradition and tired avant-garde formulas, was supplemented by a growing interest in the documentary, thanks to advances in photography and printing. Meanwhile, in Latin America a new approach to the novel was generated via storytelling, linking the particular to the universal. The historical novel was transformed and now demonstrated, alongside an only partially explored physical world, the questions that preoccupy all humankind.

In Siam, later Thailand, doctrines of Buddhist kingship fluctuated with the needs of the king and the interests of the legal profession. In the period between the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the transition to constitutional monarchy relied on notions of Buddhist kingship to ’smooth’ this process and indigenize the legal transplant of Western constitutional monarchy. The most important element of this hybridisation was the doctrine of ’the king as source of the constitution,’ which established royal sovereignty in Western, positivist, terms. The prestige of the nineteenth-century European models of constitutional and ‘limited’ monarchies, embodied in royally granted charters, provided a reservoir of doctrines to draw from in order to ‘modernise’ the monarchy in accordance with the newly imported tenets of legal positivism, while consolidating royal authority. In particular, the doctrine of ’granted constitutionalism’ established the king as the sovereign source of the constitution, a modern construct that was easily hybridised with traditional theories of Buddhist kingship. As a result, in present-day Thailand, the principle of royal sovereignty prevails both in doctrine and in practice.

James Baldwin’s account of “looking away” in “Nobody Knows My Name,” points to the prevailing habit of ignoring the history and facts of blackness that continues to be replicated in American culture. “Looking away” is, however, only partial since it simultaneously demands and denies black existence, a paradoxical strategy designed to facilitate the work of whiteness and the cultural formation it engenders. One can be resistant to the facts of race while being preoccupied with the idea of race as advanced within a critique of modernity. This chapter argues that these complex and pervasive strategies inform a mental practice, a white epistemology that is the product of historical formation, from which the reader and reading are not immune. By contrast, the chapter’s review of early modern and current theories of reading indicates the continuing trend of racial avoidance. Building on Michel de Certeau’s class-inflected analysis that “the text has a meaning only through its readers,” this chapter argues, however, that whiteness exercises an elite racial function in reading that, following Charles W. Mills’ critique, produces distortion and misinterpretation.

This chapter understands international law as more than a technocratic device to engineer changes in human behaviour and the environment. Law is a social and cultural process guided by myth and narrative. This chapter seeks new and better narratives to contest the foundational myths of modernity and development that shape our discipline and world. Rather than crafting new norms from the conventional centres of geopolitical power in the West and universalising them, this chapter calls for pluralised value formation that learns from diverse legal traditions. Such a myth protects the environment through transforming the process of global value formation. The chapter first examines how nature shapes mythology, looking at the role of the cosmic horizon in shaping social norms. It argues that the nexus of cosmos, nature and myth-making is not a phenomenon of ages past but plays a role in contemporary international environmental law. The chapter asks whether the discovery of countless Earth-like planets today could help us reimagine our Earth and global community in a healthier way, and considers the implications of our expanding cosmic horizon for rethinking international law and policy.