This chapter explores the different types of illicit and informal economy in the two migrant communities and examines why and how Sanhe gods get involved in the gray economy. It also discusses state intervention in the communities through surveillance, raids, and compaigns as well as through gentrification projects. It ends with a discussion on Sanhe gods’ friendships in the community.

Follows the further decline of American trade in the Mediterranean and the physical decline and death of the three consuls, all of whom become somewhat disillusioned with the United States and the State Department while unsuccessfully trying to insure that their families can continue to prosper in the Mediterranean.

Take a broad look at American family and friendhip ntworks, examining marriage, child-rearing, and other family and personal relations among the consuls and members of the American community in the Mediterranean.

Chapter 2 focuses on Ioannes Tzetzes’ letters and his Chiliades to explore the role that animals could play in the construction of the scholar’s gender. It begins with a discussion of Tzetzes’ preference for mules and the role they played in networks of patronage. It continues to show how Tzetzes challenged hegemonic masculinity by expressing solidarity with animals: not only did he not hunt or kill them, but he also often refused to eat them. In his collection of ancient stories, Tzetzes described animals as capable of friendship, affection, loyalty and grief, and praised their understanding of the world as in some ways superior to that of humans. In his letters, he used his affective connections with animals to justify his open expression of emotions and did not hesitate to grieve for humans, animals and plants. Tzetzes’ writings, through their blurring of human/non-human boundaries, invite us to think differently about animals, past and present, spurring us to develop greater empathy with our natural environment.

This chapter turns to anxieties about the motivations of crusaders, focusing on the romance of Guy of Warwick. In fourteenth-century Europe, an ideology of “chivalric crusading” that sought to harmoniously combine courtly love, worldly self-advancement, and service to God gained wide popularity, disseminated by works such as Guillaume de Machaut’s La Prise d’Alixandre and the Livre des fais of Marshal Boucicaut. But this ideology was not without its critics: writers including John Gower, Philippe de Mézières, and Henry of Grosmont seized upon the notion of crusading as love-service to articulate complex critiques of the worldly ambitions of crusaders. Guy of Warwick intervenes in this debate by exploring the practical and experiential implications of fighting for worldly love and pious motives.

In Satire 1.6, Horace depicts himself as a private citizen free to move around as he wishes in opposition to another character who does not enjoy such freedom of movement, owing to the fact that he is a politician. Seneca, in De clementia (perhaps recalling Horace), extols the freedom of movement he enjoys in the urban space thanks to the emperor, who, on the contrary, complains about the limitations imposed on him by his role. In Xenophon, Hiero, who was a private citizen before becoming a tyrant, is questioned by Simonides about the joys and woes of the two conditions: private citizens can go anywhere, while for tyrants everywhere they go is like travelling in enemy territory. In Horace’s sermo, the concrete space of the city refers to a potentially open political space: the figures we see moving around the streets of Rome are free to choose between political abstention and participation on the basis of their own personal inclinations. But the political and social situation was uncertain and unstable. Situations and characters tend in fact to transcend their immediate concreteness, referring to something else as well: something suited to satisfying the search for a principle of authority.

The opening lines of Ajax are spoken by the goddess Athena, who addresses her favourite, Odysseus, as an adherent of Harm Enemies: he is tracking down an enemy as usual, in a manner worthy of his traditionally tricky persona. She is the dearest of gods to him, and they enjoy a solidarity inherited from the Odyssey. He places himself in her hands, as he has always done in the past. But despite the bond between them, a conflict of values emerges. When Odysseus is reluctant to view the mad Ajax Athena scolds him as a coward. She implies that any kind of fear or ’reluctance’ constitutes cowardice.

This chapter traces the development of Judith Wright’s poetics, outlining her early focus on specific places and their legacies rather than on ideas of nation. It offers close readings of poems like “South of My Days,” “Bullocky,” and “Bora Ring.” The chapter then identifies mid-career attention to interpersonal relations before considering Wright’s growing awareness of settler-colonial privilege, Aboriginal sovereignty, different orders of temporality, and a continued expression of love for the land. The chapter reflects on the impact of Wright’s friendship with Aboriginal poet Oodgeroo Noonuccal and analyses “Two Dreamtimes.” It also examines Wright’s decision in 1990 to forego writing poetry in order to embrace environmental activism.

Swift corresponded with over two hundred of his contemporaries across England and Ireland from a wide variety of social backgrounds and situations. Some of his very best letters are written to women friends, most significantly, Esther Johnson (Stella) and Esther Vanhomrigh (Vanessa). His letters include first-hand accounts of the last four years of English and Irish politics and commentary on the publication of his major works. They also provide painful insight into the declining health of his later years, as when he writes of his ailments in brutally honest terms. This chapter explores the surviving archive of Swift’s correspondence and the evolving style, character, and contents of these documents.

Throughout his long career, Swift produced a wide range of what we might advisedly call familiar verses. This chapter begins by looking at the light-hearted poems that Swift wrote for a small, private readership, in which he jests with self-mockery and absurdity. The second section explores the poems that Swift wrote during his stints at Market Hill. Light verse can be serious, this chapter argues, and Swift’s best writing can be both amusing and weighty.

Despite his reputation for misanthropy, Swift was a clubbable man. Many of Swift’s writings emerged from his associational contexts. This chapter begins with a section on the clubs that shaped Swift’s early writings, including the Kit-Cat and the October Club. The next section shifts to the two clubs of which Swift was a member, the Saturday Club and the Brothers Club, and the activities he engaged in as a member. The final section looks at the meetings of the Scriblerus Club and its association with Robert Harley. Swift’s involvement with clubs was shaped by his enthusiasm to be considered one of the ministerial elite, but in time the expense and size of the Brothers Club faded his enjoyment. In the Scriblerus meetings he found a much cosier association in which shared literary interests were more important than political allegiance and in which real and lasting friendships could flourish.

In an era preoccupied with ideals of friendship, Swift can appear something of an outlier. This chapter focuses on the significance of Swift’s friendship with so-called ‘Scriblerians’ (principally Alexander Pope, John Gay, and John Arbuthnot). Famously, Swift cultivated a reputation for misanthropy that cut against the vaunted sociability of his time, but even in the day-to-day management of his friendships he was inclined to temper affection with reservation. Unlike Pope or Gay, Swift refuses to be drawn or to let friendship itself be drawn into a self-congratulatory mode. The chapter concludes with a sustained reading of ‘Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift’ (wr. 1731), in which friendship becomes a battle for pre-eminence, a constant source of irritation insofar as it exposes one’s own inadequacies, but is no less genuine for it.

This chapter examines how, particularly in response to their growing middle-class population, the Inns of Court relied on their architectural spaces and social practices to ensure that all members of the bar embodied the ideal of the gentlemanly professional. In the absence of required classes, the societies stressed fraternization with older generations to inculcate new members with legal knowledge and the values appropriate to British barristers. The societies emphasized affective bonds and tried to cultivate fraternal relationships between their members. Yet in the mid-nineteenth century, the category of gentlemanliness was itself in flux, subject to divergent ideas of who could be a gentleman and how a gentleman should behave. Competing ideas of who belonged at the societies or what counted as gentlemanly behavior could result in unanticipated affective registers, including anger, indignation, and shame.

The chapter pushes against the conventional narrative that Lowell’s breakthrough style of the 1950s, the colloquial and conversational diction of Life Studies, originated mostly with his immersion in William Carlos Williams’s poetry and his fascination with the Beats and Allen Ginsberg. Rather, it argues that Lowell fashioned the new confessional style out of inspirations and influences he had received from Robert Penn Warren and Randall Jarrell, who had shown sustained interest in how the practice of prose writing could refresh postwar poetic styles. Weaving together multiple strands of neglected evidence from their overlapping biographies, their letters, and reviews, Joan Shifflett argues that Life Studies owes more to Warren’s Brother to Dragons and Jarrell’s Pictures from an Institution than has previously been acknowledged.

“Elizabeth Bishop” explores the close and lifelong personal and artistic relationship that sustained Robert Lowell and Elizabeth Bishop from their first meeting in 1947 until Lowell’s death in 1977. Lowell dedicated his influential “Skunk Hour” to Bishop, and Bishop dedicated her own “The Armadillo” to Lowell. Bishop’s “North Haven” is widely considered the most eloquent of the many elegies addressed to Lowell. Over their thirty years of friendship, Lowell’s and Bishop’s lives became woven together in a vast and intricate web of words. This chapter explores their complex emotional bond, their influence on one another as poets, and the fluent exchange of correspondence, later published as Words in Air, that kept them going. The essay argues that in part through his friendship with Bishop, Lowell learned to master an art that, in the words of one of his poetic tributes to Bishop, could “make the casual perfect.”

While scholars have often acknowledged the relationship between Bernstein and Blitzstein by focusing on their Jewish immigrant backgrounds, shared love for the musical theatre, modernist approach to music, and socio-political goals, there is little discussion on how their sexual orientation might have shaped this friendship and their work. Yet, attempting to understand the bond between the two composers, both married yet unequivocally gay, without considering their queer identities leaves a major component out of the picture. In this chapter, I consider the queer intimacies that are at the core of their bond and how works that they dedicated to each other – Bernstein’s Trouble in Tahiti, an opera about gender alienation; and Blitzstein’s Six Elizabethan Songs, a set of pieces concealing possible homoerotic meanings – can uncover new perspectives on their friendship and compositional approaches.

William Schuman and Leonard Bernstein met at a Boston train station in February 1939, when the Harvard student was tasked with picking up the Sarah Lawrence professor whose Second Symphony was being performed by the Boston Symphony Orchestra that month. Over the next half-century, their bromance would blossom into a mutual admiration society and support system. The humour, warmth, lavish praise, and generous affection each man shared with the other fills the correspondence between the two, which comprises more than 100 letters, postcards, telegrams, and speeches, dating from 1939 to 1990, that are preserved among Schuman’s papers at the New York Public Library, Bernstein’s papers at the Library of Congress, and various other archives and libraries. This chapter provides an overview of these documents and showcases the importance of William Schuman in the professional and personal life of Leonard Bernstein.