This chapter will lay out a potted account of the literature of New York and its relationship to world literature braiding two main themes: first will be that of New York as a center of self-invention, a place that was primarily commercial at its inception but progressively expanded to embrace diverse forms of ethnic, cultural, sexual, and urban interactions. And second will be to focus on the significance of neighborhoods and sweatshops as the spatial vectors through which immigrants and diasporics gain a sense of New York. The bulk of the chapter and will be devoted to a close analysis of the chronotopes of the neighborhood and the sweatshop in Toni Morrison’sJazzand Melissa Rivero’sThe Affairs of the Falcónsrespectively as a means of grasping the relationship between localized foci of individual mobility, identity, and alienation in the literature of New York and the ways in which we might also discern these as key organizing principles of world literature.

This chapter explore the dynamic relationship between two distinct forms of representing urban space. These more or less follow the path of the subject or that of the object, as the more subjective itinerary (i.e., an image of space that emerges from the individual subject’s perception or experience of places) necessarily elides much of what the abstract, apparently objective map (a “God’s-eye view” or “view from nowhere” that established as non-subjective overview) can reveal. Finding one’s way through urban spaces involves something more like an itinerary than a map, the latter involving some sort of supra-subjective perspective, and yet both forms are essential to the experience of metropolitan space. In situating oneself in a given place, and in moving from place to place, one traces out an itinerary that may be more or less useful, but one also must have some more abstract sense of the overall spatial array of which that itinerary is merely one part. Cognitive mapping, in this sense, combines the two at all times. I argue that every literary cartography—every work of creative writing, in fact—of the city must also put into play both modes to create a more dynamic mapping project.

Lagos has always been an exceptional site in the Nigerian, African and world imaginary. Both the colonial capital and present-day economic centre of Africa’s most populous nation, Lagos is itself a world. It is therefore no surprise that the city has become a key site through which the world literary imaginary has unfurled, with numerous depictions, projections and imaginative instantiations of the city functioning as a fulcrum around which the contours of world-formation (mondialisation) and contestation have emerged. This chapter explores this rich literary history, conceiving of Lagosian space as a limit case for the wider operations of world-formation in World Literature across the long twentieth century. The chapter is attuned to the articulations and registrations which obtain between the material evolution of the city and its literary image, as well as the larger economic, political and social fields which subtend a range of literary forms. As a mega-city amongst mega-cities, Lagos functions as a setting particularly apt to a wide and often-incongruous range of worldly projections and world formations which lend considerable nuance to the map of World Literature.

A complex tapestry of interwoven themes spanning many centuries, Istanbul is a kaleidoscopic patchwork, a city of polar contrasts, and we are not lost for ways to explore the city and its denizens of times past. Istanbul is a city of the mind, an imaginary space that spurred writers and poets to document it in not only Turkish literature but also literature from many other cultures. Ottoman-Turkish literature alone portrays the rich andheterogeneous imagery of Istanbul ina variety of genres, including poems, plays, chronicles, memoirs and novels, and this article explores that literary tradition. It draws upon selected works that range from the Ottoman conquest of the city in 1453 up until the early 19th century, and then beyond that time when a burgeoning print culture grew, when new literary forms arose such as novels, plays and short stories. Authors of the selected texts comprise writers and poets such as Latifi, Zaifi, Fikri Çelebi, Gelibolulu Ali, Veysi, Evliya Çelebi, Nedim, Badr al-Din al-Ghazzi, Muhammad Kibrit, Tevfik Fikret, Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar, İlhan Berk and Orhan Pamuk. Most of these authors’ works suggest that, unlike other great cities of the world, one’s perception of Istanbul is rooted somewhere within one’s soul.

The chapter engages 21stcentury Johannesburg through the motif of the migrant. Colonial and apartheid discourses of the city asserted worldliness by insisting on its Eurocentricism, but from its inception it has been physically and psychically shaped by African migrants. The chapter reads the migrant city across three lenses: indeterminacy, hostility and the speculative. The experimental turn in Johannesburg fictions of the 2000s, represented here by Phaswane Mpe and Ivan Vladislavic, imagine a transnational, if contested, city. However, by the 2010s, spatial and formal ambiguity yield to a realism that bears witness to the xenophobic attacks of 2008 and 2015. The writing of diasporic authors such as Novuyo Rose Tshuma and Sue Nyathi, prompts us to imagine Johannesburg from the perspective of the imperilled migrant, for whom the city is often unliveable. In turn, depictions of the city as threat have been complicated by the rise of speculative fiction in whichthe ‘alien’ migrant points towards configurations that are resolutely global. In Lauren Beukes’s and Masande Ntshanga’s work, Johannesburg is a nodal point for imagining affiliations that exceed the boundaries of the human, and the frontiers of the world itself.

Port cities on the island of Singapore from the fourteenth century onwards have produced a dichotomy in literary representation. On the one hand, the city is monumental, its expanding physical infrastructure subsumed within solid historical developmental narratives in which dystopian and utopian visions of governance co-exist. On the other, the port offers the possibility of fluidity, an opening to the flows of peoples, culture, and trade. As a site of writing in many languages, Singapore exemplifies the concerns of world literature: interlinguistic practices, migration, networks of publishing and audiences in which the global continually returns.This chapter uses the concept of translocality to enable two intellectual moves. First, it moves us beyond a binarism between city and port, structure and fluidity in Singapore literary studies, in which literary texts are always seen as promoting fluidity as a critique of structure, rather than as acts of building, self-making and development. Second, the translocal experience of Singapore may offer a heuristic for the study of world literature, in which dystopian accounts of the imbrication of markets, reading publics, prizes, and creative writing programs with neoliberalism are often countered through utopian close readings of the transcendent possibilities of individual literary texts.

Because the birth of the Egyptian novel came so late in the Arabic literary tradition (1914) and coincided so closely with the country’s independence from the British, it is no surprise that questions of national identity and authenticity are an overlying preoccupation. What is perhaps surprising is the extent to which these questions are enacted in the arena of courtship and marriage. In the canon—as in the capital—liminal space remains prime real estate in the economy of desire. For those in Cairo who are unwilling or unable to marry at a conventional age, traditional values and familial structures, combined with a culture of surveillance and patriarchy, results in a thorny romantic landscape. All of this is exacerbated by neoliberal policies that stretch the preexistent wealth gap, as well as the increased privatization, militarization and monetization of public space. This chapter will explore possibilities for desire through liminal spaces in a select survey of (mostly) 20thcentury Cairene novels: Tawfiq Hakim’s 1933The Return of the Soul, Naguib Mahfouz’s 1947Midaq Alley, Latifa al-Zayyat’s 1960The Open Door, Enayat al-Zayyat’s 1963Love and Silence, Gamal al-Ghitani’s 1976The Zaafarani Files, Abdel Hakeem Qassem’s 1987An Attempt to Get Out, and Alaa al-Aswany’s 2002The Yacoubian Building.

From its earliest Viking origins, Dublin was part of a networked Atlantic geography of exchange. Throughout its history, Dublin’s place in world literature has been influenced by the shifting shapes of those networks over time.Eighteenth-century, literary Dublin, for instance, was determined by the gravitational field of London, while by the middle of the nineteenth century, Dublin would have become the point of origin for a transnational diaspora– an origin akin to a wound from which the blood is being drained: insular, entrophic, and suffering (in James Joyce’s phrase fromDubliners) from paralysis. Joyce is the pivotal figure here, insofar as he was to see how the city’s insular, embedded sense of place could co-exist with a generative sense of incompleteness, an awareness of the phantom limb of the global network of which the city was a part, capable of being sutured by imagination.That suturing effect would also, paradoxically, reposition what had become a peripheral city to the centre of modernist writing, notably in Joyce’s Ulysses. Finally, with Dublin today one of the most globalised cities in the world, literary form is being once more reconfigured as networks shift and are again radically decentred.

‘Vitalities’ describes the creative-destructive energies of the globalised harbour city with its geographically sprawling, culturally diverse suburban mosaic. Yet as ground zero of British invasion in 1788, Sydney is also ‘haunted’. Dispossessive colonisation ghosts not only its colonial archive but can be glimpsed in the city’s landforms and topography. ‘Haunted vitalities’ recur in settler, sojourner and migrant writings that thematize Sydney Harbour’s vertical sublime and the city’s horizontal suburban sprawl. Working from the interwar period to the present, this chapter reads settler texts about Sydney alongside texts by First Nations people. Beyond interwar, harbour-centric works– Christina Stead’s Seven Poor Men of Sydney (1934), Kenneth Slessor’s elegiac poem ‘Five Bells’ (1939) and Eleanor Dark’s novel Waterway (1938)– the spatial frame is widened to Greater Metropolitan Sydney, moving from Eleanor Dark’s reimagining of British invasion in The Timeless Land (1941), to Ruby Langford Ginibi’s memoir Don’t Take Your Love to Town (1988) and Julie Janson’s novel Benevolence (2020). With Gail Jones’s Five Bells (2011), the chapter returns to the harbour to consider how this contemporary novel not only reckons with Sydney’s settler-colonial past through a world literary frame but also attends to the presence and voice of First Nations people.

This chapter introduces the wide range of music bound up with the sublime in the Romantic period. This is a time often associated with the triumph of music – and especially ‘autonomous’ instrumental music – as the most sublime of the arts, and with a canon of overwhelming, ground-breaking, transgressive works by great (mostly German) composers. These associations are important, not least as a way of understanding the unease and sometimes controversy that has surrounded the musical sublime since the later twentieth century. Yet equally important to understanding the sublime in the Romantic period is to look beyond monumental instrumental compositions to see how smaller-scale genres and vocal music, alongside performers, listeners and other agents, shaped and contested the sublimity of music, sound and hearing, and left an indelible mark on the broader aesthetic category of the sublime itself.

One of the major aesthetic and philosophical frameworks that has been used to represent and think about the modern environmental crisis is the sublime. This chapter traces how a tradition of the sublime traceable directly to Romantic literature and culture has been used to conceptualize both the forms of nature that we should cherish, such as particular landscapes, and the forms of nature that we should shrink from, such as extreme weather events. The chapter also addresses how in the twenty-first century the sublime, and specifically a ‘Romantic sublime’ based mainly on Kant’s writings, has been condemned as an aesthetic that assumes a distance between human and nonhuman, and which creates a false impression that humans can transcend or solve the environmental crisis. Finally, the chapter considers whether a Romantic eco-sublime might still have a useful role in helping us to think about the nonhuman world and our relationship with it in a time of crisis.

This chapter examines the remarkable growth in the popularity of mountain climbing in Britain during the Romantic period, as adventurous fell-walkers went in search of the sublime. Mountain summits were increasingly seen as the ultimate sublime location and ascent as a near-guaranteed way to experience psychological as well as physical elevation. The chapter explores the links between mountains and the sublime in the period’s aesthetic theories before examining how the literature of British domestic tourism described the sublime pleasures of ascents to British summits. It investigates the relationship between the presentation of sublime experiences on British mountains and those on the higher peaks of the Alps and traces the emergence of Snowdon in Wales, Skiddaw in the Lake District, and Ben Lomond in Scotland as pre-eminent British sublime locations. It shows how, as summits became more crowded, thrill-seeking climbers increasingly ventured to more remote and dangerous locations to experience the sublime.

The Alpine sublime contributed to the Romantic vogue for mountains, but also to the development of Romantic aesthetics and modern subjectivity. This chapter examines a variety of representations of the Alps, including scientific and aesthetic treatises, poems, prose fiction, and painting, as well as more ephemeral documents such as travel journals and visitors’ books. Authors addressed include Rousseau, Ramond, the Duchess of Devonshire, Wordsworth, the Shelleys, Byron, and Ruskin. It argues that the Alpine sublime served as an expression of divine power, human autonomy, and social distinction. Proceeding chronologically, the chapter begins with the Grand Tour, with its scientific, aesthetic, and mythical representations of the Alps, then looks at how the French Revolution appropriated the Alpine sublime, at ways in which Romantic writers responded by making it a private experience, and finally at how tourism helped generalize this modern attitude to mountains.