Witchcraft: A Very Short Introduction (review)

Reviewed by: Dissimulation and Deceit in Early Modern Europe ed. by Miriam Eliav-Feldon and Tamar Herzig Benedek Láng Keywords Miriam Eliav-Feldon, Tamar Herzig, Benedek Láng, deception, Early Modern Magic, demoniac, deceit in magic, trickery miriam eliav-feldon and tamar herzig, eds. Dissimulation and Deceit in Early Modern Europe. Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, Pp. 250. Imposture, pretense, dissimulation, deceit, lying, and forgery have increasingly become the foci of scholarly publications in the last decades. Natalie-Zemon Davis' famous analysis of the story of Martin Guerre, Carlo Ginsburg's book on Nicodemism, Anthony Grafton's overview on forgery, Jon Snyder's monograph on dissimulation and secrecy, Stephen Greenblatt's investigation of bluffing travel book authors, and Perez Zagorin's Way of Lying concentrate on various aspects of false identity and issues of questioned authenticity in the early modern period. The volume under review groups eleven studies, most of which were originally presented as contributions to an international conference held at Tel Aviv University in 2012. Many of the chapters are case studies. However, [End Page 127] they are consistently focused around three types of problems: religious dis-simulation (problems around converts), links to the supernatural (problems surrounding discernment of spirits), and travel liars (problems connected to self-appointed ambassadors and a false cosmographer). As the Introduction by Miriam Eliav-Feldon argues, "The fifteenth to the seventeenth centuries were the heyday of religious dissimulation and the authorities' preoccupation with unmasking it" (3). While lying has always been a sin in Christianity (and elsewhere), differentiation between various types of lies and relativization of the value of truth started very early in history. Michael Bailey documents in his systematic analysis—which is one of the pieces in the volume that is not a case study—the history of how church authorities offered more and more sophisticated taxonomies of falsehood and developed categories of lying. Categorization depended not so much on the action of deceit, but rather on its end and the motivation behind it. Augustine, and Aquinas following him, tolerantly allowed space to harmless—as opposed to harmful—lies, and unintentional—as opposed to intentional—deceit. In a parallel way, difference between true religion and superstition was also gradually "internalized," so that less emphasis was put on external behavior and more on internal convictions. Dissimulation became a particularly vexed issue when the condemnation of (clerical) necromancers was at stake, inasmuch as necromancy used the ceremonial forms and institutional values of true Christian worship but misdirected them. Documenting the growing concern on religious falsity, superstition, and diabolical witchcraft, Bailey arrives at the time of reformation, from which the following chapters depart. One of the first theorists of international law, Alberico Gentili's classification of mendacium (as is documented by Vincenzo Lavenia) marks a further step in accepting "useful" lies. With the rise of the protestant churches, it became possible for intellectuals banned from one confession to follow new and complicated strategies to become accepted in another. Their arrival in a new religious context and their sometimes repeated change of confession genuinely raised the problem of dissimulation. The stories of intellectuals such as Francesco Pucci (examined in the article by Giorgio Caravale) and common people (such as those men and women presented in the study of Monica Martinat), show that leaving one church and getting accepted to a new one was—in spite of the huge doctrinal differences—far from being final; occasionally a complex maneuvering was possible for example between the competing churches in the "silk-triangle" of Geneva, Lyon, and Milano. The motives for conversions and reconversions might have been intellectual [End Page 128] and theological, but could also be purely financial (for example, to score an improvement in one's social position). Several studies focus primarily on fluid, unstable, and attributed identity issues. The figure of the "Marrano" (a term for a Christianized Jew or Muslim in medieval Spain, especially one whose Christian identity might have been simulated), was quite "well known" and widespread in Italy, as we learn from Stefania Pastore, while the image of the recidivist baptized Jew, who lived as a professional itinerant beggar, was not only a simple literary anti-Semitic stereotype, but also had...

Reviewed by: Language and the Grand Tour: Linguistic Experiences of Travelling in Early Modern Europe by Arturo Tosi Weiao Xing Language and the Grand Tour: Linguistic Experiences of Travelling in Early Modern Europe. By Arturo Tosi. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2020. xiv+306 pp. £85. ISBN 978–1–108–48727–6. In 1764, the young Scot James Boswell took the opportunity to converse with Voltaire during his visit to France. He asked the Enlightenment giant if he still spoke English. 'No', Voltaire joked, 'to speak English one must place the tongue between the teeth[,] and I have lost my teeth' (p. vi). Starting from this anecdote, Arturo Tosiʼs book depicts the linguistic experiences of Grand Tour travellers. The author adopts the broad definition of 'Grand Tour' that spans from the sixteenth century to the dawn of the nineteenth. Over three hundred years, Anglophones crossing the Channel for educational sojourns in France and Italy were the protagonists of mobility. Scrutinizing their letters, memoirs, and travel accounts, Tosi elucidates how these travellers acquired foreign tongues and responded to the immersion environment. At the frontier of contact, many travellers tasted exotic cultures and recorded their translingual experiences. Their varied language proficiency and cultural attitudes further mirrored the linguistic panorama of early modern Europe. [End Page 284] In the vibrant scholarship of the Grand Tour, social and cultural historians rarely give centre stage to the linguistic experiences of travellers who visited different European speech communities. Tosi, as a sociolinguist, takes language learning, contact, and diversity as his key themes (p. 21) and casts new light on linguistic pedagogies, including literary and non-literary approaches (pp. 84–88). In the early phase of the Grand Tour, various educational sources covering conversation manuals underpinned multilingual experiences in the heyday of the eighteenth century (John Gallagher, Learning Languages in Early Modern England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), p. 158). Through borrowings, loanwords, and code-switching, Tosi exemplifies the dynamic nature of language contact during the Grand Tour. In this process, travellers not only acquired and used foreign languages but also witnessed the rich linguistic diversity, from vernaculars to variations of spoken Latin. Another highlight of this work lies in its attempt to connect translingual practice with intercultural communication in the Grand Tour. Before approaching his linguistic investigation, Tosi addresses the core question of 'the relationship between motivation for language acquisition and attitudes to foreigners' (p. 25). During their tours, a few Anglophone travellers faked their identities by passing themselves off as native speakers (p. 59). More travellers, whether proficient in foreign tongues or not, encountered cultural shocks from 'eccentric' customs such as cicisbeo (p. 75), and were apt to stereotype national characters (p. 25). These observations also foreground the issue of gender, as female travellers were no longer rare during the late eighteenth century. Compared with their male counterparts, they usually attached more attention to cultural diversity and otherness (p. 248). Noticeably, boundaries between these linguistic and cultural issues are confluent but not non-existent. Some discussions, such as the figure of the castrato (pp. 77–79), seemingly relate more to cultural awareness than languages per se, and their relations with linguistic experiences invite a closer examination. In general, this inspiring monograph illuminates sociolinguistic aspects of travel experiences, substantially contributing to social and cultural debates about the Grand Tour. It contains rich evidence that showcases intriguing stories of travellers, such as the young Robert Boyle and Edward Gibbon, who lodged in continental Europe for their intellectual cultivation. The author casts these personal encounters within the frame of major linguistic issues in early modern Europe. For instance, travel records detailed the decline of Latin as a lingua franca and the rise of vernaculars in competition (p. 168). In the late eighteenth century, the monolingual complacency that hindered travellers' second-language proficiency took root in the prevailing national superiority (p. 166). Some references, such as Lady Montaguʼs visit to the Ottoman lands (p. 245), provoke readers to ponder non-European contexts, and the transition into the modern age (p. 257) raises concerns about the continuity and mutation of these early modern linguistic experiences. In this [End Page 285] sense, thanks to its inclusive horizons, this...

Reviewed by: The Saint and the Chopped-Up Baby: The Cult of Vincent Ferrer in Medieval and Early Modern Europe by Laura Ackerman Smoller Michael Vargas The Saint and the Chopped-Up Baby: The Cult of Vincent Ferrer in Medieval and Early Modern Europe. By Laura Ackerman Smoller. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. 2014. Pp. xx, 343. $45.00. ISBN 978-0-8014-5217-8.) The Dominican preacher Vincent Ferrer was an ardent critic of the Great Schism who nonetheless remained close to the Avignon pope, Benedict XIII, until nearly all others had abandoned him. A confidant of the count-kings of the Crown of Aragon, he (after Martin I died without an heir) helped shape the Compromise of Caspe that moved Catalonia into the Castilian orbit. Born in 1350, he died in 1419 in Vannes, where he was preaching at the invitation of the duke of Brittany. [End Page 819] In old age his fiery preaching and apocalyptic message attracted crowds of self-mutilating followers and caused riots that led to forced conversions and deaths. Despite all of this, Laura Ackerman Smoller turns our basic assumption of Ferrer’s profound importance on its head; perhaps his lasting influence is due not to his own achievements but to the powerful persons who promoted his saintliness to advance their own agendas. This book is not a biography but rather an assessment of the uses of recollection. Much of the book treats the politics and processes that led to Ferrer’s canonization in 1455, concentrating foremost on the canonization inquest at Vannes. The single “cult” of the book’s subtitle should be read in the plural, since it is one of Smoller’s central assertions—one for which she presents ample evidence—that there were a number of ways to read Ferrer’s sanctity after his death as well as various ways of promoting and acting upon the many readings. Smoller argues that Ferrer’s cause succeeded because powerful persons who had the money and political capacity to pursue their agendas saw that Ferrer’s canonization would serve them well. The canonization in 1450 of the Franciscan Bernardino of Siena lit a fire under the Dominicans that moved them to make claims for a new saint of their own; once they put their institutional muscle behind it, the canonization process moved along quickly. The dukes of Brittany similarly attached themselves to Ferrer in competition against French kings who quite usefully rode the coattails of St. Louis. The papacy and the Catalan count-kings had their own reasons for advancing Ferrer’s sainthood and their own stories to tell about why his saintliness mattered. Even ordinary people found ways of benefiting from the canonization fervor. Given the complexity of voices and interests, it seems no surprise to find evidence of “whitewashing” of Ferrer’s record, of leading witnesses along a preapproved script, and of a vita written to redress and obscure. The ample nuance and complexity here may leave some readers feeling that the book is disjointed or that they have occasionally lost the main line of argument. Others might want more or less substance in this or that citation or wish that some really good material was not relegated to sparse notes, as for example, in the story of the man who lost his intestines after murmuring against Ferrer. Smoller brings odd humor to her work when she describes the cooking of the chopped-up baby as Valencian paella and when she implies that Ferrer, after death, found several occasions to tell his supporters that he would do them some good once they succeeded in having him canonized. Quibbles and curiosities aside, the author has done well to let facts, legends, and evidentiary threads open one onto another into nets of questions and resources for future Ferrer studies. There is much to learn from this exemplary study of Ferrer’s afterlife. [End Page 820] Michael Vargas State University of New York at New Paltz Copyright © 2014 The Catholic University of America Press

Authenticity, Antiquity, and Authority: Dares Phrygius in Early Modern Europe Frederic Clark Dares Phrygius, “First Pagan Historiographer” In his Etymologies, Isidore of Seville—the seventh-century compiler whose cataloguing of classical erudition helped lay the groundwork for medieval and early modern encyclopedism—offered a seemingly straightforward definition of historiography, with clear antecedents in Cicero, Quintilian, and Servius.1 Before identifying historical writing as a component of the grammatical arts, and distinguishing histories from poetic fables, Isidore confirmed that “history is a narration of deeds [narratio rei gestae], through which things done in the past are discerned.”2 Thereafter, he equated historical writing with eyewitness observation, insisting that “among the [End Page 183] ancients, no one wrote history unless he had been present and seen those things to be recorded.”3 But Isidore’s further treatment of historiography grew more perplexing. Upon affirming that “among us, Moses first composed a history, on the beginning of the world,” he unexpectedly declared that “among the pagans, Dares Phrygius first composed a history, concerning Greeks and Trojans.”4 Only later did the encyclopedist mention more well-known Greek historians (to modern audiences at least) like Herodotus. 5 Isidore’s invocation of his “first pagan historiographer” referred most likely to the De excidio Troiae historia (henceforth DET), a fifth- or sixth-century Latin pseudo-history billed as an eyewitness account of the Trojan War. Conveyed in sparse, dry, and inelegant language, the DET was long thought to have been the war diary of one Dares Phrygius, purportedly a Trojan participant in the conflict.6 In reality, the Latin DET was a two-part forgery, as its spurious dedicatory epistle—supposedly from the Augustan-era biographer Cornelius Nepos to the historian Sallust—claimed that “Nepos” had discovered the work in an Athenian archive and rendered it “truly and simply” (vere et simpliciter) from Greek into Latin.7 While potentially derived from a Greek antecedent, perhaps composed as an anti-Homeric jeu d’esprit during the Second Sophistic, the Latin Dares was assuredly not an accurate and verbatim translation of any lost Greek original. 8 Notwithstanding its uncertain origins, Isidore’s pagan counterpart to Moses would go on to achieve canonical status in the medieval Latin West, and survives today in approximately 200 manuscripts. Moreover, Dares’s authority was extended through practices of compilation integral to medieval [End Page 184] textual culture.9 This compilatory impulse—which spawned countless multi-text anthologized codices and similarly animated Isidore’s encyclopedism—encouraged the Phrygian’s codicological pairing with numerous sources both ancient and medieval. Not only did the DET serve, codicologically, as a prologue to Trojan origin narratives like Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae, but it was also integrated into the structure of universal history, utilized as a means of augmenting the Chronicon of Eusebius-Jerome.10 Throughout the Middle Ages, Dares served not only as a name to invoke, but also as a source to appropriate and rework: to insert into universal chronicles, append to Trojan genealogies, or render into epic verse. Moreover, the pseudo-author’s status as “first pagan historiographer” was hardly lost on medieval sources: for instance, when William of Malmesbury inserted the DET into his anthology of ancient Roman histories, he made sure to include Isidore’s endorsement directly before the text’s incipit.11 For nearly a millennium, Dares’s fabricated claims of antiquity and autopsy constituted airtight guarantors of textual auctoritas. Between Criticism and Credulity: Dares in Early Modern Scholarship But Dares did not remain undisturbed in the canon. Instead, the DET saw its first recorded challenge with the advent of the early Renaissance. Writing in 1400 in his De tyranno, the Florentine Chancellor Coluccio Salutati turned to the Phrygian when debating a favored subject of nascent Italian humanism—the history of early Rome. Here Salutati sought to counter the long-held claim, attested in the DET, that Aeneas was not a pious hero driven from Troy, but rather a duplicitous traitor who had himself betrayed the city to the Greeks.12 The Florentine Chancellor correctly acknowledged that Aeneas’s treason was alleged by “the most ancient historians Dares [End Page 185] Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis” (Dictys, another late antique...

Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe Noah J. Efron Almost a quarter-century ago Benjamin Nelson published his famous plea for what he called a “differential” and “comparative historical sociology of ‘science’ in civilizational perspective.” 1 Like Max Weber, Robert Merton, and Joseph Needham, Nelson believed that the growth of western science could be better understood when compared to the ways “science” fared in other cultures with other intellectual and institutional and economic sensibilities and structures. A particularly propitious case study for such a differential and comparative historical study of science, as Hillel Levine observed in his 1983 essay about Jewish reactions to heliocentrism, are the Jews of early modern Europe, who constituted “a society geographically and culturally contiguous with those who framed and advanced occidental ‘science.’” 2 Since about the time of Nelson’s plea, David B. Ruderman has been writing the history of Jewish attitudes towards, and engagements with, science during the period in which modern western science was constituting itself. It is no exaggeration to say that he established this as a field of study, producing a steady stream of historical studies, initially of Italian Jews who read and wrote about nature and its study, but continually expanding his compass. 3 The field [End Page 719] Ruderman established and the studies he produced have been “repercussive” (to borrow his own adjective) in many directions—shedding light on Jewish-Christian relations, on early-modern Jewish intellectual history, on the deployments of Kabbalah and magic in early modern times, and so on. One of Ruderman’s achievements—perhaps not the most important in his view (for he considers himself a historian of Jewish thought and culture and not a historian of science) but of great importance nonetheless—has been to begin to lay the groundwork for a comparative history of Jewish and Christian attitudes towards and participation in the “new sciences.” Ruderman’s newest book is a big step towards Nelson’s desideratum, using Jewish attitudes as the comparative case. It is a collection of twelve linked essays (five of which have appeared elsewhere in one form or another) framed by a synthetic introduction and epilogue. The essays are individual or group portraits of Jews who evinced interest in natural philosophy or medicine, in a variety of settings and for a variety of reasons, between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. Ruderman describes his subject as “three distinct but interrelated groups among early modern Jews”: (1) “converso physicians and other university-trained intellectuals who fled Spain and Portugal in the seventeenth century and settled in Holland, Italy, Germany, England, and even eastern Europe, serving as doctors and purveyors of scientific learning throughout the Jewish communities of Europe, while yielding considerable political and economic power,” (2) “certain circles of Jewish scholars in central and eastern Europe [who] pursued scientific learning, especially astronomy, in more informal settings as a desirable supplement to rabbinic study,” and (3) “the hundreds of Jews who attended Italian medical schools, primarily the University of Padua, from the late sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries.” 4 In fact Ruderman covers even more ground than this. As background, he includes a brief essay on the attitudes of tenth- to fifteenth-century Jews towards nature and its study, surely the best survey of the sort available. Of the thirty or so early modern Jews that he describes in the remainder of the book, about twenty fit in at least one of the three camps upon which he focuses. 5 Nine [End Page 720] emerged from different circumstances (though these too were often highly influenced by one or more of the focus populations). This fact does nothing to impugn Ruderman’s typology—the groups he described were, in fact, of particular importance, and his identification of them as the principle populations contemplating and promulgating natural philosophy among Jews is in itself an advance of some moment. But the fact that a third of the cases Ruderman described do not fit into his own typology is testimony both to the complexity of his subject, and to his agility in addressing it. By anthologizing a dozen depictions of different thinkers in different milieus, Ruderman affords what might be called a “hawk...

No Renaissance Art Form calls more loudly for our ethical response than that representing the persecution and execution of witches; and none raises more clearly the analytical problem of” guilt” or “respond acts with a culture’s ways of seeing, the theater of witchcraft involves an epistemology in which looks really can kill. And yet, though works of dramatic journalism such as The Late Lancashire Witches (1634) may have influenced the legal process in offstage witch trials, we search in vain for an actual corpse with which to accuse Renaissance drama’s fascination with the subject. Though there is much to suggest that early modern skeptics such as Reginald Scot and Samuel Harsnett recognized the function of theatricality in the cultural production of the bewitched and bedeviled, moreover, these skeptics never charge the institution of the stage with responsibility for persecution and execution.

Reviewed by: Commentary on Thomas Aquinas's Virtue Ethics by J. Budziszewski Raymond Hain Commentary on Thomas Aquinas's Virtue Ethics by J. Budziszewski (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), xxvii + 295 pp. J. Budziszewski's Commentary on Thomas Aquinas's Virtue Ethics follows his similarly structured 2014 Commentary on Thomas Aquinas's Treatise on Law. But while the earlier commentary, over 500 pages long, works straight through all of questions 90–97 of the prima secundae and is supplemented by an additional 250-page online commentary, this commentary is shorter, highly selective, and lacks a supplemental online commentary. And since the first half considers selected articles on the virtues in general, while the second half considers selected articles on justice, the Commentary on Thomas Aquinas's Virtue Ethics itself feels like a supplement to the earlier law commentary. After describing its overall content and structure, I will comment on how useful it might be for its intended audience: "scholars," "students" and "even . . . serious general readers" (xxi). The Commentary on Thomas Aquinas's Virtue Ethics includes the text of, and commentary on, eighteen articles from the Summa theologiae. Ten articles focus on the virtues in general: I-II, q. 55, a. 4 (Whether virtue is suitably defined?) I-II, q. 58, a. 4 (Whether there can be moral without intellectual virtue?) I-II, q. 58, a. 5 (Whether there can be intellectual without moral virtue?) [End Page 583] I-II, q. 61, a. 2 (Whether there are four cardinal virtues?) I-II, q. 61, a. 3 (Whether any other virtues should be called principal rather than these?) I-II, q. 62, a. 1 (Whether there are any theological virtues?) I-II, q. 63, a. 1 (Whether virtue is in us by nature?) I-II, q. 63, a. 2 (Whether any virtue is caused in us by habituation?) I-II, q. 65, a. 1 (Whether the moral virtues are connected with one another) I-II, q. 84, a. 4 (Whether the seven capital vices are suitably reckoned?) And the remaining eight articles focus on the virtue of justice: II-II, q. 30, a. 3 (Whether mercy is a virtue) II-II, q. 58, a. 1 (Whether justice is i described as being the perpetual and constant will to render to each one his right?) II-II, q. 60, a. 1 (Whether judgment is an act of justice?) II-II, q. 60, a. 2 (Whether it is lawful to judge?) II-II, q. 60, a. 5 (Whether we should always judge according to the written law?) II-II, q. 60, a. 6 (Whether judgment is rendered perverse by being usurped?) II-II, q. 80, a. 1 (Whether the virtues annexed to justice are suitably enumerated?) II-II, q. 122, a. 1 (Whether the precepts of the Decalogue are precepts of justice?) The text of each article is presented twice—once in the 1920 Blackfriars translation (now in the public domain and widely available) and once in a paraphrase by Budziszewski. Line-by-line commentary follows each portion of the text and is keyed to the sentences in the Blackfriars translation. Besides the text of the commentary itself, an eleven-page general introduction and an index are included as supporting material. Budziszewski is most interested in understanding the plain meaning of the text, and in working through Aquinas's sources, and there are almost no comments that engage contemporary scholars or critics of Aquinas. As he says, "Some may think I do not spend enough time quarreling with critics of St. Thomas. My conviction is that before we enter these quarrels, we had better make sure we understand him. If we do understand him, many of the criticisms fall away like dead leaves" (xxii). Serious general readers will find this commentary very helpful, especially [End Page 584] if they are coming to Aquinas for the first time. Consider this representative passage from ST I-II, q. 55, a. 4 that discusses the "matter" of virtues and Budziszewski's paraphrase (10–11): Text: [5] Now virtue has no matter "out of which" it is formed, as neither has any other accident; but it has matter "about which" it is concerned, and matter "in which...

Reviewed by: Sensual Encounters: Monastic Women and Spirituality in Medieval Germany Marie-Luise Ehrenschwendtner Sensual Encounters: Monastic Women and Spirituality in Medieval Germany. By Erika Lauren Lindgren. [Gutenberg-e Online History Series.] (New York: Columbia University Press. 2009. Pp. xvi, 190. $60.00. ISBN 978-0-231-14238-0). Erika Lindgren's Sensual Encounters has a very interesting scope: The author tries to unravel the interaction between environment and experience of Dominican sisters in the upper Rhine area; she chooses six convents from a wide range of possibilities (Unterlinden in Colmar, St. Katharinenthal, Diessenhofen, and three convents in Freiburg/Breisgau: Adelhausen, St. Agnes, and the Penitents of St. Mary Magdalene). These houses offer her a broad variety of sources; three of them left so-called Sisterbooks to posterity (which Lindgren, unfortunately, uses quite uncritically). The author includes liturgical and other manuscripts, economic and legal documents, materials related to architecture, and artwork. However, Lindgren does not provide a reason why she refers to these particular convents. She does not justify her inclusion of [End Page 778] the Freiburg Penitents, which, strictly speaking, were not part of the Second Order of St. Dominic at its inception, despite its close links to the Dominicans. On the other hand, she excludes, for example, Töss and Oetenbach, the Strasbourg houses. Her decision to concentrate on the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries prevents her from using the rich source material extant from the reformed convents since the end of the fourteenth century. In the first chapter Lindgren turns to the "spatial environment" (p. 27), moving from the center (church and choir) to the—arguably—less spiritually charged areas (such as kitchen, dormitory, and garden); here, she detects a tension between the legally prescribed uses of these spaces and "the female Dominicans subverting the specific officially designated functions of monastic spaces"(p. 50). The second chapter explores the visual environment that has already received wide-ranging scholarly attention, especially through the groundbreaking research of Jeffrey Hamburger; Lindgren relies predominantly on remains of St. Katharinenthal and the Freiburg convents and correlates the material sources with the written testimonies, giving a valuable insight into the sisters' spiritual interaction with and practical, hands-on use of the objects in their environment. The next chapter scrutinizes the acoustic environment, and appropriately Lindgren does equally refer to silence and sound in the sisters' environment. Silence was as much part of the official regulations as it was part of the women's spirituality; but, as Lindgren points out, the sisters could be quite noisy at times: they did not only sing the prescribed divine services but also incorporated sounds of joy and suffering into their devotion and, Lindgren argues, so defied the official regulations. The last chapter refers to the "textual environment"(p. 142); the multiple tasks fulfilled by the sisters required the daily use of written material. Since Lindgren restricts herself to the prereform period she has to rely mainly on liturgical manuscripts that were, of course, written in Latin. The author stresses the bilingual culture within the Dominican convents and concedes that "the individual devotions were often in the vernacular," but does this not contradict her earlier statement of the "prevalence of . . . [the Latin] language in their conception of spirituality"? (p. 148). On the whole, Lindgren provides an interesting insight into the lively spirituality of Dominican sisters in the context of their material environment. However, at times she overstates the antagonism of male/official regulation and female/spontaneous spirituality. Additionally, the book would have profited if Lindgren had referred to the large number of more recent publications on her subject; the omission of Andrew Spicer and Sarah Hamilton's Defining the Holy: Sacred Space in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Burlington, VT, 2006) is especially regrettable. [End Page 779] Marie-Luise Ehrenschwendtner King's College, University of Aberdeen Copyright © 2011 The Catholic University of America Press

The Nature of Nature in Early Modern Europe Lorraine Daston (bio) Introduction: What Was Modern about the Early Modern? The very term “early modern” implies a historical doctrine of preformationism: whatever characterizes modernity was somehow present in embryo—tiny but recognizable—in the period from circa 1500 to 1789. “Early modern” is as screamingly anachronistic and teleological a label as “the Middle Ages”; yet even a generation of historians trained to revile anachronism and teleology as cardinal sins still clings not only to the letter but also to the spirit of the term. The most provocative recent works of cultural, intellectual, social, economic, and political history locate the origins of the modern state, modern capitalism, the modern mind, the modern individual, and, of course, modern science in this pivotal period. The history of science has long underwritten, and continues to underwrite, the validity of the periodization “early modern” by singling out much the same chronological territory with its own portentous label, “the Scientific Revolution.” Despite upheavals in the recent historiography of the Scientific Revolution, the narrative remains one of mythic origins: the remarkable historical work of the past decade presents, for example, seventeenth-century experiments in a very different light than did James Bryant Conant or Marie Boas Hall, but the old and new studies agree that seventeenth-century experiments were at once a dramatic innovation with respect to all that came before, and the ancestor and model for all that came [End Page 149] after. 1 Even those who, like Bruno Latour, loudly assert that “we have never been modern” take this seventeenth-century moment to be seminal of our characteristic brand of unmodernity. 2 Like the preformationist fantasy of uncountably many human generations nested one within another in the womb of Eve, all that is modern, from secularization to commodity capitalism to scientific experiment, is imagined to lie curled within the fertile and capacious womb of the early modern. 3 Mythologies, especially origin mythologies, are notoriously deep-rooted and resilient. Dispense with them in religion, and they crop up in art: nineteenth-century biblical scholars debunked Genesis, only to embrace Der Ring der Nibelungen. Sigmund Freud’s “return of the repressed” was primarily and literally the return of buried mythologies—Oedipus, Jocasta, and company. Myths are tenacious because they defy the too-simple logic of true versus false. They are typically false in all their details, and true in their essences. I cherish no illusions about the efficacy of empirical counterexamples, or rational argument, or even ridicule to loosen the hold of such mythologies on the collective imagination of historians. Rather, I want to examine the most powerful variant of the myth of the early modern pregnant with the modern, the variant that has elevated the Scientific Revolution to epoch-making significance not only in the narratives of the history of science, but also in the grander (and usually gloomier) narratives of cultural critics, from Max Weber to Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer to Michel Foucault. This is the myth of the disenchantment of nature, here summarized in bare-bones version. Sometime between the mid-sixteenth and the mid-eighteenth centuries, so runs the myth, nature lost its soul. No longer animated [End Page 150] nor active, nature was reduced to brute, passive, stupid matter. The Scientific Revolution transformed creative nature into a machine, blindly obedient to cause and effect. But as nature’s IQ plummeted, its authority soared. Nature replaced God as the ultimate basis for legitimation: natural law warranted the social and political orders, natural desires justified the expansion and deregulation of commerce, natural theology proved the existence and benevolence of the deity. Mythologists in this tradition resolve the apparent paradox of nature’s simultaneous fall and rise by pointing to the cultural logic of naturalization. Nature’s authority in hotly contested social and political matters such as the subordination of wives to husbands or the subordination of subjects to monarchs or the subordination of infidels to established religion depends on the claim that nature is a neutral party to such strife. And what is more neutral than a stupid machine? The very enslavement of nature to a metaphysics of regularity, necessity, and uniformity recommended it...

Reviewed by: Shipwreck Modernity: Ecologies of Globalization, 1550–1719 by Steve Mentz Gayle K. Brunelle Steve Mentz, Shipwreck Modernity: Ecologies of Globalization, 1550–1719 (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press 2015) ix + 225 pp. In Shipwreck Modernity, Ecologies of Globalization, 1550–1719 Steve Mentz sets out to disrupt the traditional linear narrative of modernity that posits the Renaissance as a rupture that began the modern era. Scholars of the Renaissance, from Jacob Burkhardt to Stephen Greenblatt, have argued that in attempting to revive the worldview and aesthetics of the Classical era, Greenblatt's "swerve," Renaissance humanists set the stage for modernity. Mentz contends that this paradigm of early modernity as a necessary break [End Page 234] initiating the development of modernity, most notably and recently celebrated by Stephen Greenblatt in his Pulitzer Prize winning book The Swerve: How the World Became Modern (2012), misses the fundamental complexity not just of the early modern era, but of history, and of the human condition. Mentz is a literary scholar, and his analysis is based on examination of mostly English literature about the ocean and shipwrecks from the sixteenth through the early twentieth centuries. His goal is to offer an alternate way of understanding not just pre-modern European culture and the whole concept of "modernity," but also our own culturally and ecologically disrupted era. Mentz argues in Shipwreck Modernity that the traditional interpretation of modernity is too "dry," too "land-based" to serve the needs of contemporary culture. By this Mentz means that our world is now too global, and too ecologically threatened, for a narrative that is Western in outlook, linear in trajectory and optimistic and positivistic in tone to help people make sense of the rapid ecological changes, globalization and fragmentation of the Western-dominated world order that characterizes our century. Mentz questions the usefulness of the periodization of history into medieval, early modern, and modern that still dominates scholarly chronology and the discourse, the actual language we use to describe history. Mentz offers an alternate discourse, a "wet" discourse in which the sea is at the center, not only because interaction with the sea was central to the development of the increasingly global economy and culture of the early modern and modern periods, but also because the formless sea, with no distinct lines or breaks, which reaches in all direction and disorients the human body plunged into it, seems a better way to understand historical change. Mentz argues that early modern European culture was "fundamentally ecological in nature" (2) because what historians have traditionally called the "expansion of Europe" obliged Europeans to interact with the ecologies, human and natural, of the entire globe. Like shipwrecked sailors, Europeans were plunged into a strange, formless ocean of new peoples, plants, animals, geographies, and topographies that they could neither categorize nor control. Survival meant figuring out how to float or swim until they reached the shore. And like the ocean, a single body of water that surrounds all land masses and mingles currents from all parts of the world, the intellectual "ocean" in which early modern Europeans found themselves adrift mingled past and present, hither and yon, indiscriminately. Humans sought ways to catalogue, periodize, and structure the waters around them, but ultimately the fundamental disorder of the oceanic nature of our world rendered any intellectual structures they created fragile and contingent. Surviving a shipwreck requires abandoning the vessel at some point and plunging into the salt water in an effort to reach the shore. The new land cannot be attained without first breaking up the structure of the ship and experiencing the disorientation of the formless ocean. And the shore itself is always contingent, since humans cannot create a global world without experiencing the ocean. This, for Mentz, seems to be his central metaphor for the crisis of modernity, and in particular the effects of climate change with which our own world is contending. Old structures, understandings and solutions are inadequate and in fact are fragmenting under the relentless [End Page 235] pressure of the ocean, rising ever higher to meet us as the global temperature warms. We cannot survive by clinging to a wreck. We must all plunge in and swim...

Orestes Brownson's Freedom of the ChurchIntroducing Orestes A. Brownson's Essay "Civil and Religious Freedom" Richard M. Reinsch II (bio) Orestes Brownson's wonderful essay "Civil and Religious Freedom" (1864) provides a remarkable philosophical and constitutional defense of religious liberty. The essay bears the particular merit of bridging the traditional American understanding of religious freedom as an individual right with the corporate notion of freedom of the church, which acts, Brownson argues, as the shield of religious liberty. First, permit me a few words on this figure who has not received in recent decades the rich scholarly and public discussion he deserves. Orestes Brownson was a fixture throughout much of the nineteenth century, writing at the intersection of that period's constitutional, religious, and social controversies. Born in 1803 in Vermont, [End Page 112] the New Englander migrated across Christian denominations and modern ideologies in early adulthood. He espoused a prototype of Protestant liberation theology that believed Christianity could recruit the sentiments of the masses for egalitarian social reform. He was also a significant member of the Transcendentalists, until he concluded that this school of thought's exaltation of spirit over nature and reason was sheer madness. Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., focused on Brownson's religiously informed social and political activism because Schlesinger believed it was crucial evidence of a deposit of progressivism in America well before the New Deal.1 While Schlesinger can legitimately claim the young Brownson as an American progressive forerunner, what ultimately marks Brownson's mature path is a genuine quest for understanding the truth about the human person and our capacity to understand what we should do to flourish as created and relational beings. Brownson rejected radical Leftist political theorizing after the 1840 elections. "Mugged by reality," as it were, Brownson wrote that the 1840 presidential campaign, which featured William Henry Harrison winning the presidency on a campaign appeal of a "log cabin and hard cider," revealed to him the mob-rule aspects of mass modern politics. In short, engaging in political activism to reach egalitarian ends was just as likely to produce dastardly results. A politically wiser Brownson soon arose. Political refinement in Brownson was indelibly linked to his conversion to the Catholic Church in 1844, which concluded his theological searching and his radical political thought and style. Finding his theological home in Rome liberated Brownson from the need to vindicate a Gnostic politics of perfection. He understood that politics could not bear the ideological weight that he had placed upon it, and this entailed understanding the tragic and limited nature of politics and human existence. There is no final progress or emancipation in this refined account, but a firm awareness of how the differentiated dimensions of human nature, albeit imperfectly, are realized in various social, political, economic, and religious contexts. [End Page 113] In this way, Brownson provided an original, robust defense of American constitutionalism and religious freedom. He saw our political order as fundamentally just because of its ability to balance and soothe the collectivist and anarchic instincts of political modernity. American constitutionalism was not perfect—Brownson articulated its own discontents quite well in The American Republic (1865)—but he also argued that it contained ample resources to uphold a dignified political order of freedom and responsibility. Brownson stated in 1853 that the question that dominated his mind and writing was articulating the proper relationship between the church and the state, or, as he frequently noted, the spiritual and temporal realms. This, he argued, "in one form or another is almost the only question discussed in our [Brownson's Quarterly] Review, [it] is precisely this question as to the relation of the two orders, the rights and powers of the spiritual order in relation to the temporal, and of the church, as the representative of the spiritual, in face of the state, the representative of the temporal."2 Brownson was a profound critic of modern political ideologies that subsumed the church under the state. He opposed political atheism because of its complete divorce of the political order from religion and morality. The publicly enforced notion that the state faces no source of authority higher than its own that can...

Reviewed by: Black Then: Blacks and Montreal, 1780s–1880s George Elliott Clarke (bio) Frank Mackey. Black Then: Blacks and Montreal, 1780s–1880s McGill-Queen’s University Press 2004. xii, 228. $65.00, $24.95 Popular historian Frank Mackey chronicles, in Black Then: Blacks and Montreal, 1780s–1880s, the remarkable adventures and misadventures of representative and notable African persons in colonial and post-Confederation Montreal. Mackey pens these narratives in an accessible, journalistic, and lightly humourous style, thus rendering them invitingly educational [End Page 433] for a wide range of readers, from high school level on up. While his thirty stories (these little histories are, really, truthful tales) are easily digestible 'entertainments' in a Graham Greene mode, they also correct ignorance about the early history of Montreal's black community. Black Then is a fresh contribution to African-Canadian and Afro-Québécois letters because it recovers many unknown personages and uncovers many ignored documents, while opening up their narratives to a lay readership. By scouring Quebec court documents and newspaper pages (especially those of the Gazette), Mackey turns up notable instances of slavery, liberation, fraud, skullduggery, and licentiousness. But Mackey's research also allows him to resurrect a vivid parade of characters, heroes, heroines, and scoundrels (white and black). Thus, Black Then establishes the abiding presence of blacks in Montreal as well as the persistent (but not indefatigable) racism to which they have been subjected. Finely conducted research and masterful writing blend to introduce readers to memorable black Montréalais like Caesar Johonnot, an ex-slave from Boston, who, in 1789, became the manager of the city's first distillery. Although the literate Johonnot served to establish Montreal as a liquor capital of North America, his name has been lost to us until now. Mackey notes, 'You'd think there'd be a monument [for him], a plaque somewhere, a street name, a brand of whisky, a word slipped in a book, something, anything.' But there is nothing; or, rather, there was nothing, until Mackey discovered this history. Other important 'finds' include the slave narrative of Lavina Wormeny, published in the Gazette, in 1861, under the heading 'Narrative of the Escape of a Poor Negro Woman from Slavery.' Wormeny escaped from a particularly brutal plantation in Texas, gave birth in the wilderness, slipped out of handcuffs, swam a river full of alligators, and eventually arrived in Montreal by train. Mackey also recovers abolitionist writings by Paola Brown (1832), Alexander Grant (1834), and the tricky Israel Lewis (1846). Thus, Mackey has single-handedly enlarged the canon of early African-Canadian literature. Black Then tells us much that we simply have not known before about black life in colonial Montreal. Mackey omits, deliberately, because it is has been discussed by other historians, the story of the torture and execution of Marie-Josèphe Angélique, in 1734, for having allegedly torched a good swath of Montreal. However, the omission is noticeable. More problematic is Mackey's failure to examine his historical methodology. He does not consider, though he should, the ramifications of Prince Edward Island historian Jim Hornby's argument in Black Islanders (1991) that reliance on court documents, while necessary to obtain a sense of black life in colonial Canada, may result in a skewed vision of their reality because of the biases inherent in prosecutions and in testimony itself [End Page 434] Although Mackey exercises due diligence and expresses doubt, where necessary, scrupulously, he should have interrogated, openly, his own approach to the once-hidden histories he relates. Other books treat les Montéalais noirs, especially Dorothy Williams's scholarly work The Road to Now (1997), a twentieth-century-oriented history. In addition, Mairuth Sarsfield's novel No Crystal Stair (1997) recalls life in black community Montreal between roughly 1925 and 1945. Uniquely, however, Mackey's work offers a 'novelization' of a century of obscure – but intensely fascinating – history. Black Then may be read, profitably, by everyone – from high school students to doctorate-wielding researchers. It is 'Canadiana'; it is 'Black Studies'; it is excellent writing. The general reader will find this work as compelling and strangely moving as will a 'professional' student of literature and history. George Elliott...

Reviewed by: Catholic Women Confront Their Church: Stories of Hurt and Hope by Celia Viggo Wexler Mary Jeremy Daigler Catholic Women Confront Their Church: Stories of Hurt and Hope. By Celia Viggo Wexler. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016. 216pp. $34.00. While there are in the United States alone thousands of women similar to the ten whom the author describes, fewer are as perceptive, well educated, and articulate as those whom Celia Viggo Wexler chose to interview for this book. Some are nationally and internationally known to those who follow contemporary church or social developments (Simone Campbell, Marianne Duddy-Burke, Diana Hayes, Frances Kissling, and the author herself), while the others are more regionally and/or topically focused (Barbara Blaine, Teresa Delgado, Sharon MacIsaac McKenna, Gretchen Reydams-Schils, and Johunda Sanders). The women’s lives are similar in several of their underlying convictions, as noted by Wexler in her introduction (9–10): “primacy of conscience, [End Page 93] importance of social justice, rejection of the church’s opposition to women priests, and a faith that transcends the institutional church.” Despite the similarities of convictions among the women, their individual biographies display the uniqueness of each. Those that tell of attempts to deal with circumstances that might seem destructively overwhelming are particularly revealing: One grew up homeless and moved with her mother from shelter to shelter, others were survivors of clergy, familial, or peer sex abuse. Still others achieved their extraordinary education while working several jobs, raising their children, and aggressively seeking out financial aid programs. Wexler reports each of the ten mini-biographies with clarity, focus, and, in the end, fidelity to the similarity that binds them into this one volume: the pain they experience(d) at the hands of Roman Catholic clergy and hierarchy. While the pool of only ten women is too small to make many generalizations, it is worth noting that several of them have earned advanced degrees in their respective academic disciplines and are on faculties in graduate and undergraduate schools. Others of them do their teaching in less structured settings, as lecturers, researchers, and advocates—both in the public arena and in their families. Four of them either are or were members of religious communities of women. Some are married and some have children. Their distinguishing feature is their passion for the Roman Catholic community and for bettering the lot of its members, despite the odds. The focus on details of each woman’s life is appropriate, for in them the reader will see and learn the power of each individual’s decision-making. And that is precisely the point of Wexler’s research: the hope that these women offer the world is the possibility of personal change, not necessarily of institutional reform. This book is in many ways an easy read and it draws the reader in by its clear structure, human stories, and comprehensible rendering of ecclesial and spiritual concepts. Not written as a textbook, still it deserves and will find a welcome place on college reading lists and [End Page 94] library shelves. Even more likely is the market that should develop among general readers and book discussion groups who have an interest in the contemporary Roman Catholic Church. After all, Wexler does state that one of her purposes in writing the book is to address the lack of conversation about the issues among like-minded women. Mary Jeremy Daigler Mount St. Agnes Theological Center for Women Copyright © 2017 American Catholic Historical Society

Reviewed by: Collected Works of Erasmus W. Martin Bloomer Denis L. Drysdall , translator and annotator, and John N. Grant, editor. Collected Works of Erasmus. Volume. Adages III iv 1 to IV ii 100. University of Toronto Press 2005. xii, 592. $150.00 John N. Grant , translator and editor, and Betty I. Knott, translator. Collected Works of Erasmus. Volume. Adages IV iii 1 to V ii 51. University of Toronto Press. x, 677. $150.00 These two attractive volumes, the fifth and the sixth devoted to the Adagia, complete the publication of the English translation of Erasmus's final version of his collection of proverbs. As part of the Collected Works of Erasmus, the University of Toronto Press's distinguished and ambitious series that translates and annotates the chief works of Erasmus, they may return Erasmus to a wide reading public. The meticulous production from the press does justice to the fine and diligent scholarship of the [End Page 234] editors, who have had the daunting example but also the notes of the late Sir Roger Mynors, who annotated volume 31 and annotated and translated the next three volumes. The Latin reader, like the editors of these volumes, now benefits from a well-edited, modern edition of the Amsterdam text. This is a rather remarkable, triple-editing process, fortunate in the concentration of effort and worthy of Erasmus's own time, when in revising the Adagia he had the benefit of other fine humanist editions and translations of collections, e.g., of Greek proverbs, and his own earlier printings. The great beneficiaries of the editorial work of the Dutch and the Toronto editors are, of course, scholars, but also, dare one hope, that elusive or even fictive creature, a general reader. The notes of the two volumes track the changes in the various printings and indicate Erasmus's use of sources. The imprint of the Greek proverb collectors is thus made manifest in CWE 35. CWE 36 outdoes its predecessor in the wealth and detail of notes on the particular printings Erasmus has used. His reading of Aristophanes especially had produced a significant number of new adages, tacked on to the old ending point. A reader must occasionally be left stranded, given the variety of events, customs, and persons contained in these passages, and all will appreciate the concise explanations and the directions to appropriate editions of Erasmus's sources. The great labour behind some of these notes, e.g., not simply that Erasmus has used Philostratus, but which edition he has read and, where appropriate, notice of emendations by modern editors of readings current in Erasmus's time, impresses, so too the accuracy of the translation and the quality of printing. Quite rightly the commentary points out when Erasmus has got his Greek wrong, misremembered a source, quoted from memory, been corrected later by Estienne, or been led into confusion by a now emended reading. But these corrections are only foam on the ocean of his memory, reading, and knowledge, and are offered with no censorious spirit. Rather the notes help us see the humanist scholar in action – applying a wealth of reading to understand the wisdom of the past and its peculiar idioms. The qualities of that effort are peculiar. The idiomatic, a distinctive way of saying something, presents a puzzle in which truth seems to lie hidden, waiting for the philologist. Thus Erasmus will credit some strange detail from the elder Pliny or Aristotle's History of Animals, but on his understanding, sifting and evaluating the texts, not empirical investigation, leads to truth. This quest for truth is one of the great appeals of the discursive text, yet the Adagia have probably been more praised than read in the last fifty years. While the devotees of the Adagia hail it as a treasury of anecdote, an epideixis of philological method and explanation, a manual in the use of the classics, and a guide to the extraction and application of wisdom from literature, it is, in fact, a text of vast dimensions and ambition, one that frequently and deliberately seeks out and cites [End Page 235] difficult Greek and Latin words and expressions. Thus the most fundamental fact of...

Current Bibllography Kelli A. Larson [The current bibliography aspires to include all serious contributions to Hemingway scholarship. Given the substantial quantity of significant critical work appearing on Hemingway’s life and writings annually, inconsequential items from the popular press have been omitted to facilitate the distinction of important developments and trends in the field. Annotations for articles appearing in The Hemingway Review have been omitted due to the immediate availability of abstracts introducing each issue. Kelli Larson welcomes your assistance in keeping this feature current. Please send reprints, clippings, and photocopies of articles, as well as notices of new books, directly to Larson at the University of St. Thomas, 333 JRC, 2115 Summit Avenue, St. Paul, MN 55105-1096. E-Mail: Kalarson1@stthomas.edu] Books Bloom, Harold, ed. Ernest Hemingway (Bloom’s Modern Critical Views). New York: Bloom’s Literary Criticism, 2011. [Reader’s companion to EH’s life and major works, including SAR, FTA, and OMAS. Reprints criticism from such well known EH scholars as George Monteiro, Susan F. Beegel, and Donald A. Daiker. Includes a bibliography and chronology of the author’s life.] ———. Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises—New Edition (Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations). New York: Bloom’s Literary Criticism. 2011. [Reader’s companion to the novel. Reprints criticism from such well known EH scholars as H.R. Stoneback, James Nagel, and Donald D. Daiker. Includes a bibliography and chronology of the author’s life along with a brief introductory essay by Bloom characterizing SARas an elegy.] Calabi, Silvio, Steve Helsley and Roger Sanger. Hemingway’s Guns: The Sporting Arms of Ernest Hemingway. Camden, ME: Shooting Sportsman, 2010. [Thoroughly researched descriptive guide to EH’s extensive collection of [End Page 143] guns, revealing much about the author and his sporting life along the way. Argues that EH’s inclination for quality and functionality reflected his high level of expertise. Traces EH’s lifelong use of and fascination with firearms beginning with his introduction by his father at just two and a half years old. Includes short excerpts from letters and works such as GHAand UKand over 100 black and white photographs of EH hunting and shooting with family, friends, celebrities, and associates.] Larsen, Lyle. Stein and Hemingway: The Story of a Turbulent Friendship. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2011. [Literary and historical biography tracing EH and Stein’s complicated and troubled relationship. Covers their initial 1922 Paris meeting, their falling out after the publication of SAR, and occasional reconciliations over the next two decades. Draws on memoirs, biographies, letters, and previously unpublished material from the Kennedy Library to piece together the evolution of their friendship from budding admiration to intense resentment and jealousy.] Newlin, Keith, ed. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway (Critical Insights Series). Pasadena, CA: Salem P, 2010. [Study geared toward students and general readers. Divided into two parts, the first section contains new essays on the novel’s composition, critical history, and Paris context. The second reprints essays from such well known EH scholars as Carlos Baker, Mark Spilka, and Scott Donaldson reflecting the changing critical landscape over the years. Newlin’s introductory materials, “About This Volume” and “On The Sun Also Rises,” outline the novel’s origins and compositional history and surveys the volume’s contents including six new essays annotated below. Pp. 12–16: “Biography of Ernest Hemingway” by Stanley Archer. [Brief biography of the author’s life and major literary achievements.] Pp. 17–19: “The Paris ReviewPerspective” by Petrina Crockford for the Paris Review. [Muses on the novel’s cultural impact and creative influence on other writers.] Pp. 23–35: “An American in Paris: Hemingway and the Expatriate Life” by Matthew J. Bolton. [Contextualizes the novel within the larger expatriate scene by examining EH’s fictionalization of his real life Paris experience. Focuses on his development of the definitive autonomous expatriate figure.] Pp. 36–48: “Gender Identity and the Modern Condition in The Sun Also Rises” by Jennifer Banach. [Discusses the novel’s revision of traditional gender roles resulting from the unsettled aftermath of World War I. Suggests the [End Page 144] novel’s androgynous strains reflect postwar uncertainty regarding the extinction of old world notions...