Swift was personally acquainted with many women writers. During his London years in the reign of Queen Anne, he repeatedly encountered Delarivier Manley and Anne Finch. Later, over the course of daily life in Dublin, he formed his own female ‘senate’ of writers, including Mary Barber and Laetitia Pilkington. However, this chapter focuses on two underexplored aspects of Swift and women writers. The first section reconsiders Swift’s earliest and longest collaborative relationship with a woman writer, Esther Johnson, whom Swift had taught as a child. The second section looks at his later reception by women writers, including Maria Edgeworth and Margaret Atwood.

This contests Norbert Eliass view of the civilizing process. It argues that in the first decades of the eighteenth century, the promotion of gentler manners worked in the service of military aggression. Martial virtue was promoted against the threat of effeminacy and corruption, while poets celebrated the humanity of brutal victors in contemporary wars. The Fast and Thanksgiving services of the Church sancitifed the violence of the war zone while discouraging brutality in daily life. Fears about the corrupting influence of war news were countered by ideal models of martial virtue. A new theory of the sublime was developed, which claimed that an imaginative engagement with representations of violence could have a humanizing effect.

My examination of the general trends in epic writings of the 1790s lays the ground for my fourth chapter to explore one of the more curious epics of that decade: ‘Brutus’, by Ann Yearsley. The chapter explores how Yearsley uses the resources of the epic genre to claim a cultural authority that permits her to promote the idea of an uplifting colonialism that seeks to transform indigenous populations. Yet she seeks to qualify and critique this ideology of Christian imperialism by calling attention to its accompanying dangers. Attending to the ways she draws attention to the racial hybridity of conversion narratives – as well as the ways she deflects the anxieties summoned by such hybridity – I show how Yearsley implicitly claims for herself a transcendent interiority that both aligns her with the middle class and allows her to assert independence from those who would exert authority over her, such as her former patron Hannah More.

This chapter ruminates on the multiple meanings of home/lakay in the Haitian context, paying close attention to the concept of home in relation to material and physical spaces. Building on the work of scholars who have theorized diaspora as process, condition, and project, it argues that the Haitian Kreyòl term lakay presents fertile ground for extending theories of diaspora. It explores how these dynamics unfold in three works by contemporary Haitian artists: the novel La dot de Sara (2002) by Marie-Célie Agnant, two short stories by Edwidge Danticat from Krik? Krak! (1995), and the song “Fo m Ale” (2000) by Emeline Michel. Taking an approach that is both multilingual (French, English, Kreyòl) and multi-genre (essay, short story, novel, song), the methodology advances a broader argument about approaches to analyzing Haitian literature while calling attention to the importance of how diaspora manifests itself with local specificity.

Latin America in 1870–1930 initiated many modernization projects, and “First Wave” feminism resulted from expanded education, a modernizing strategy. Feminism engaged in emancipation strategies and legal and labor reforms. Suffrage was not its primary aim. Periodicals showed feminism’s impact in culture, commerce, civil rights, and public health, and films showed women in daring roles. Early leaders were professionals (Moreau de Justo) and labor activists (Capetillo, Muzzili). Feminism was first successful in cities (São Paulo, Buenos Aires), changing education, labor practices, and child protection. The Mexican Revolution produced new contexts for women in the arts (Campobello). The US presence in Cuba and Puerto Rico reordered Caribbean racial and social hierarchies. Women writers and activists of varied social classes, feminist or not, showed the costs and benefits of urbanization, family, and immigration. Teaching and writing allowed “middlebrow” access to the public sphere (Mistral, Storni). Literature brought women’s issues to the public sphere.

Introduction: Walter Scott’s tales of chivalry and adventure inaugurated a masculinized Scottish romance tradition that celebrated a sublime and heroic version of Scotland. Nineteenth-century Scotswomen responded to Scott’s influence by establishing a countertradition of unromantic or even antiromantic representations of Scotland. Their novels challenge the long-standing claim that Scotland lacked any equivalent to the English realist novel. In turning from the past to the present and from the sublimity of Scott’s Highland landscapes to farmhouses, factories, and suburban villas, Scottish women writers brought romance to everyday life, illuminating the magnificence of the mundane. Drawing on the evangelical discourses emerging from the splintering of the Presbyterian Church in 1843, they represented fiction as a form of spiritual comfort, an antidote to the dreary monotony and petty frustrations of daily existence.

The epilogue shows how Ovid’s early modern legacy leads to the defense of two famous women, the Biblical Eve and the Augustan Julia, as Ovidian heroines whose life stories record their relations to parrhesia and republicanism. Milton’s Eve is the greatest Ovidian and republican creation of Paradise Lost, the first of Our First Parents to represent the “filial freedom” that counts as “true authority in men” and also the essentially republican conviction that God can and should be found in the peers drawn together within republics and social contracts. Wharton’s Julia is Eve’s counterpart. She is the first reader of Ovid who believes in the power of his poetry to create a commonwealth of letters that can and will survive his own life as well as his exile. This chapter brings to a conclusion the book’s broad concern with women as readers of Ovid who move the poet’s political convictions forward to new generations and epochs. It simultaneously gestures toward the further work that may be done to show how Ovid’s poetic legacy has long worked toward patterns of social and political change.

This essay follows scenes of threatened sexual violence in three canonical novels by women, Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth (1905), Willa Cather’s My Àntonia (1918), and Zora Neale Hurston Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937). By focusing on these scenes in isolation, I draw out their affective descriptions and resist the resolution of plot in an attempt to evince modern literature’s capacity to represent violence against women and to rupture the normalization of rape culture. In these scenes, Wharton, Cather, and Hurston use narrative innovation to dramatize these threats: Wharton using long, elliptical sentences to signal both Lily’s fear and her denial; Cather placing Jim Burden in the victim’s place, thereby reminding us not only of the vulnerability of women but also of the sexual abuse of boys by older men; Hurston using animal possession as a figure for Tea Cake’s increasingly jealous and violent attitude.

The two main drivers of women’s novels between 1800 and 1830 were the love-intrigue and a keen interest in politics. The market played a part: readers craved love-stories but, as avid followers of the national upheavals of the period, they were not solely seeking escapism. Thus, for example, egalitarian perspectives often shape the plots of these women’s novels. Among those who performed a (sometimes precarious) balancing-act between ‘romance’ and ‘social critique’ were Stéphanie de Genlis, Adélaïde de Souza, Julie de Krüdener, Sophie Cottin, Sophie Gay and Claire de Duras. The linchpin was the celebrity Germaine de Staël, who set the agenda not only for contemporary novelists but also for many later ones, both male and female. With characters like the creative Corinne, as well as through feminist analyses and comparative literary criticism, she influenced writers throughout Europe and in the United States. For Staël, romance, Romanticism, history and social critique were interwoven. Her contribution to Western culture is increasingly highlighted by literary scholars and intellectual historians, and in 2017 France bestowed on her a significant accolade: publication in the prestigious Pléiade series.

Centred on the period of the French Revolution (1789–1804), this chapter explains how the revolutionary decade marked a distinct change in the type of fiction available on the French literary market, with the paradoxical increase of translations from the English at a time during which England and France were at war with one another. By focusing on mostly forgotten and overlooked French translators of the English Gothic novel, the chapter shows that French translators of the English Gothic were not only men and women of a certain notoriety, but were also deeply implicated in contemporary political events. Such figures not only actively participated in the circulation of the French new national identity, but also played a significant role in the intercultural exchanges between France and England. Finally, the chapter demonstrates the participation of Gothic novels in the diffusion of republican values, and their coincidence with the sociological emergence of a new and ever-growing ‘democratic’ French readership that had experienced revolutionary events first hand.

In this chapter, female homosocial relationships are explored as confident articulations of female identity and as suggestive models of political governance. Despite widespread anxiety about female-only assembly and scepticism regarding the virtues of female friendship, women writers in this period evidently found friendship between women to be a theme in which they could articulate and explore a range of feelings and emotions not otherwise sanctioned by their culture. The chapter considers a range of poetry and fiction – by Charlotte McCarthy, Margaret Goddard, Olivia Elder, Frances Sheridan, and her daughter Elizabeth – in relation to differentially situated ideas of ‘sisterhood’ before turning to the ways in which Ireland came to be figured as a ‘sister’ kingdom to Britain in the later century, thus shaping the proto-feminism of earlier traditions in new, national formations.