Although the reaction against Tennyson may have begun at his funeral, there is not doubt he was the central English poet of the nineteenth century as well as a fixture of the Victorian age—the fashioner of a public image that, in Tennyson’s case, bears a complex relation to the poetic imagination itself. Herbert Tucker provides a definitive account of the first half of Tennyson’s career, arguing that the poet self-consciously constructed his creative life in a dynamic balance with the work of his Romantic predecessors and with variously seductive and repellent features of Victorian culture.

Tucker narrates the life in Tennyson’s poems through a linked sequence of close readings, which supplement intrinsic interpretation of texts with considerations of Tennyson’s romantic allusiveness, generic experimentation, and aspiration to cultural spokesmanship. Explication of major poems from Tennyson’s formative years through the first decade of his unparalleled ascendancy illustrates the ways in which his original and pervasive sense of inevitability found developing expression, as a matter both of poetic form and of poetic argument. Tucker shows how Tennyson, through the authority of verbal craft that was his hallmark, consistently elaborated upon the fatalistic, intimate yet impersonal melancholy that was a source, and at length a result, of his prodigious public success.

Anyone interested in Victorian literature will read this book with profit, for it tells us a great deal not only about the preeminent Victorian poet but also about the cultural turn of mind that transformed Romanticism, during the second quarter of the nineteenth century, into a Victorian mode.

 Taking to heart Thomas Heywood’s claim that plays “persuade men to humanity and good life, instruct them in civility and good manners, showing them the fruits of honesty, and the end of villainy,” Mark Bayer’s captivating new study argues that the early modern London theatre was an important community institution whose influence extended far beyond its economic, religious, educational, and entertainment contributions. Bayer concentrates not on the theatres where Shakespeare’s plays were performed but on two important amphitheatres, the Fortune and the Red Bull, that offer a more nuanced picture of the Jacobean playgoing industry. By looking at these playhouses, the plays they staged, their audiences, and the communities they served, he explores the local dimensions of playgoing. 

Because Thomas Hardy is so closely associated with the rural Wessex of his novels, stories, and poems, it is easy to forget that he was, in his own words, half a Londoner. Focusing on the formative five years in his early twenties when Hardy lived in the city, but also on his subsequent movement back and forth between Dorset and the capital, Mark Ford shows that the Dorset-London axis is critical to an understanding of his identity as a man and his achievement as a writer.

Thomas Hardy: Half a Londoner presents a detailed account of Hardy’s London experiences, from his arrival as a shy, impressionable youth, to his embrace of radical views, to his lionization by upper-class hostesses eager to fête the creator of Tess. Drawing on Hardy’s poems, letters, fiction, and autobiography, it offers a subtle, moving exploration of the author’s complex relationship with the metropolis and those he met or observed there: publishers, fellow authors, street-walkers, benighted lovers, and the aristocratic women who adored his writing but spurned his romantic advances.

The young Hardy’s oscillations between the routines and concerns of Dorset’s Higher Bockhampton and the excitements and dangers of London were crucial to his profound sense of being torn between mutually dependent but often mutually uncomprehending worlds. This fundamental self-division, Ford argues, can be traced not only in the poetry and fiction explicitly set in London but in novels as regionally circumscribed as Far from the Madding Crowd and Tess of the d’Urbervilles.

Theirs was a world of exploration and experimentation, of movement and growth--and in this, the thinkers of the Renaissance, poets and scientists alike, followed their countrymen into uncharted territory and unthought space. A book that takes us to the very heart of the enterprise of the Renaissance, this closely focused but far-reaching work by the distinguished scholar Angus Fletcher reveals how early modern science and English poetry were in many ways components of one process: discovering and expressing the secrets of motion, whether in the language of mathematics or verse.

Throughout his book, Fletcher is concerned with one main crisis of knowledge and perception, and indeed cognition generally: the desire to find a correct theory of motion that could only end with Newton's Laws. Beginning with the achievement of Galileo--which changed the world--Time, Space, and Motion identifies the problem of motion as the central cultural issue of the time, pursued through the poetry of the age, from Marlowe and Shakespeare to Ben Jonson and Milton, negotiated through the limits and the limitless possibilities of language much as it was through the constraints of the physical world.

Joyce Malcolm illuminates the historical facts underlying the current passionate debate about gun-related violence, the Brady Bill, and the NRA, revealing the original meaning and intentions behind the individual right to “bear arms.” Few on either side of the Atlantic realize that this extraordinary, controversial, and least understood liberty was a direct legacy of English law. This book explains how the Englishmen’s hazardous duty evolved into a right, and how it was transferred to America and transformed into the Second Amendment.

Malcolm’s story begins in turbulent seventeenth-century England. She shows why English subjects, led by the governing classes, decided that such a dangerous public freedom as bearing arms was necessary. Entangled in the narrative are shifting notions of the connections between individual ownership of weapons and limited government, private weapons and social status, the citizen army and the professional army, and obedience and resistance, as well as ideas about civilian control of the sword and self-defense. The results add to our knowledge of English life, politics, and constitutional development, and present a historical analysis of a controversial Anglo-American legacy, a legacy that resonates loudly in America today.

This study envisions Tocqueville as a political man, and a politically committed one, rather than as an omniscient and solitary prophet of the age of the masses. A historical account of one of the essential liberals of the nineteenth century cannot ignore the fact that Tocqueville's views of both the present and the future were formulated in terms of the outlook of his own generation and class.

The British Isles were the source of some of Tocqueville's most significant insights, especially of the historic connection between the rise of democracy and the extension of bureaucratic centralization. They furnished him with two examples from which he eventually drew a theory of the evolution of aristocracies. They gave him a comparative basis for a theory of the relation of ideas to social change, of the causes of and antidotes to revolutions. His ideas on institutional and economic reform and on the ingredients of a great foreign policy bore the English trademark. If at times he protested against a lifeless imitation of an insolent rival, more often than not what the rival was doing became the basis for his own solutions to French problems.

Finally, England provided Tocqueville with a refuge from the intellectual and political isolation of his last years. He found there, not only the consensus which was necessary for him to grasp his own reality and purpose, but the opportunity to continue to influence the course of events, however diminished his range. At the end of his life England was his second homeland, and assumed the prime place in his vision of the history of human liberty.

A discussion of Tocqueville's intellectual relationship with his lifelong friend, Gustave de Beaumont, is indispensable to this study. Tocqueville brought to their common fund of ideas a wealth of insight which justly claims greater scholarly attention, but it was Beaumont who, after their journey to England and Ireland in 1835, attempted an extended study of the British constitution, while the ideas of his traveling companion remained in undigested notes. Despite the fact that the inseparability of their ideas on democracy was recognized a generation ago, the unity of their careers and ideas after the appearance of their books on America here receives due analysis for the first time.

The Trinity Circle explores the creation of knowledge in nineteenth-century England, when any notion of a recognizably modern science was still nearly a century off, religion still infused all ways of elite knowing, and even those who denied its relevance had to work extremely hard to do so. The rise of capitalism during this period—embodied by secular faith, political radicalism, science, commerce, and industry—was, according to Anglican critics, undermining this spiritual world and challenging it with a superficial material one: a human-centric rationalist society hell-bent on measurable betterment via profit, consumption, and a prevalent notion of progress. Here, William J. Ashworth places the politics of science within a far more contested context. By focusing on the Trinity College circle, spearheaded from Cambridge by the polymath William Whewell, he details an ongoing struggle between the Established Church and a quest for change to the prevailing social hierarchy. His study presents a far from unified view of science and religion at a time when new ways of thinking threatened to divide England and even the Trinity College itself.

With its distinctive gables and arches, Tudor-style architecture is recognized around the world as a symbol of British culture; it represents the idea of home to British citizens in the United Kingdom and abroad. Some love it, others hate it, but the Tudoresque is still being built—to give a house an old-fashioned air or to create a sense of exotica. Yet few people know anything about how Tudor Revival buildings came to be. To fill this gap is Tudoresque, an insightful book that explores the origin of the style, tracing its roots to the antiquarian enthusiasms of the eighteenth century.

It looks at the Tudoresque cottage style, which later influenced 1930s architecture, and the Tudor-style manor house, particularly favored in the nineteenth century. While the style has been discouraged since the 1920s (and is especially reviled by modernists) it continues to be a popular choice—particularly when the architect doesn’t have the upper hand. The authors here show how the style is the mainstream of twentieth-century British architecture and explore how it has travelled abroad. From Tudor Village in Queens to Stan Hywet Hall in Akron to Malaysia, Shanghai, and Singapore, Tudor Revival has found a comfortable home across the globe. These black and white gabled buildings are important not so much because they are great architecture, but because they are everywhere.

In 1767, two “princes” of a ruling family in the port of Old Calabar, on the slave coast of Africa, were ambushed and captured by English slavers. The princes, Little Ephraim Robin John and Ancona Robin Robin John, were themselves slave traders who were betrayed by African competitors—and so began their own extraordinary odyssey of enslavement. Their story, written in their own hand, survives as a rare firsthand account of the Atlantic slave experience.

Randy J. Sparks made the remarkable discovery of the princes’ correspondence and has managed to reconstruct their adventures from it. They were transported from the coast of Africa to Dominica, where they were sold to a French physician. By employing their considerable language and interpersonal skills, they cleverly negotiated several escapes that took them from the Caribbean to Virginia, and to England, but always ended in their being enslaved again. Finally, in England, they sued for, and remarkably won, their freedom. Eventually, they found their way back to Old Calabar and, evidence suggests, resumed their business of slave trading.

The Two Princes of Calabar offers a rare glimpse into the eighteenth-century Atlantic World and slave trade from an African perspective. It brings us into the trading communities along the coast of Africa and follows the regular movement of goods, people, and ideas across and around the Atlantic. It is an extraordinary tale of slaves’ relentless quest for freedom and their important role in the creation of the modern Atlantic World.