This article explores the intersection of book history and prosopography. It uses several case studies of copies of the medieval parliamentary statutes translated into English, together with later copies of English statutes translated into French, to argue for both thick prosopographical study of individual volumes and large, statistically based studies of books drawn from the largest possible data sets. Together, these methods amount to a new “prosopograhy of the book.” The case studies analyzed here reveal a complicated politicized relationship not only between script and print but also between French and English in the early Tudor era.

Archbishop James Ussher's manuscript notebooks allow us to observe the making of a Calvinist absolutist and to orientate the archbishop's beliefs about royal power within European Reformed thought as a whole. By 1643, Ussher was preaching a polished and complete theory of absolute royal power, and it is possible to track the development of this political theory forward from his undergraduate days in the 1590s. Throughout his life Ussher engaged anxiously with Reformed theologians abroad, who generally favored limited rather than absolute monarchy. Nevertheless, Ussher shared with these Reformed colleagues both an antipathy to aspects of Aristotelian politics and a commitment to the divine institution of royal power. Finally, despite Ussher's hostility to Laudian innovations in the Irish Church, his heartfelt political beliefs made him a firm supporter of Stuart absolutism throughout the Three Kingdoms.

This article takes a new look at British radicalism in the 1790s and explores it within broad geographical and cultural frameworks and through the early career of Henry Redhead Yorke, a West Indian Creole who became a radical in England but frequently recanted his politics. It views radicalism within the Atlantic World and provides a broader interpretation of the excluded majority than as an English working class. It examines the radical “citizens of the world” and sheds new light on the apparent conflict within English radicalism between universalist and constitutionalist ideologies. Politicization and identity are the key themes here examined within micro- and macro-histories.

This article explores the ideas of “Walking” John Stewart (1747–1822), a little-known adventurer and philosopher active in debates over social reformation during the French Revolutionary period. Renowned as a peripatetic who walked from India to Britain, Stewart befriended Thomas Paine and others during the early years of the Revolution. His main aim was to persuade them of the value of his philosophy, which was derived from French materialism as well as Hindu and Buddhist sources. But Stewart also came under the influence of the Shakers, Dunkers, Moravians, and other North American sectarian communities. As early as 1791 he commended small-scale “cohabitations” of no more than 100 men and 100 women as the ideal form of association. Here, and in his radical approaches to marriage and sexual relationships, he strikingly anticipated the ideas of Robert Owen and the early socialists.

This article focuses on the Irish-born metropolitan radical and parliamentary journalist Peter Finnerty, exploring, in particular, the distinctive nature of his political engagement. Chiefly remembered as a friend of William Hazlitt and an implacable opponent of Lord Castlereagh, Finnerty was an influential figure in his own right, who moved between a range of social and political spaces. Framing him as an unrepentant Irish radical, indifferent to the coercive power of authority, this article will examine Finnerty's involvement in a range of scandals, controversies, and causes célèbres, and will highlight the ways in which he succeeded, through enacting a contempt for authority, in subverting both the courtroom and Parliament itself.

Both critics and defenders of James Strachey's translations of Sigmund Freud have tended to judge their worth by the standard of “accuracy”—in other words, their faithfulness to Freud's theories. This article takes a different approach, tracing Strachey's choices as a translator to his own experiences in Edwardian, wartime, and interwar Britain. Convinced that the ruling elite and the mass public alike were captive to dangerously irrational forces, Strachey saw the science of the unconscious as a vehicle for political and social criticism. As an attempt to mobilize expert knowledge against the status quo, Strachey's translation represents a divergence from two influential paradigms for interpreting the history of psychoanalysis: Carl Schorske's account of the Freudian “retreat from politics” and Michel Foucault's portrait of the “superstructural” state as an extension and ally of the human sciences. Strachey's translation also demonstrates that the political and social ambitions of British psychoanalysis were powerfully formed by the era of the First World War, and not only the Second, which historians have often identified as the crucial moment.

The Commonwealth Arts Festival of 1965 was an important moment of postimperial reengagement. Over three weeks, Britain hosted visual artists, musicians, dancers, poets, and writers representing national cultures, who together presented a diverse Commonwealth assembled in terms of egalitarian multiculturalism. This article examines the investments of individual nations in participating in this festival to argue for the transnational production of multiculturalism at the end of empire. As a postimperial phenomenon, Commonwealth multiculturalism depended on the legibility of distinct national cultures assembled through an equitable framework. Governments sponsored representative cultural forms in response to domestic political circumstances and international economic needs, and against the imperial aesthetic hierarchies of the past. Examining the diverse interests assembled through the festival is essential to understanding the legacies of imperial power for more seemingly democratic frameworks of difference.

This article explores the life and commemoration of Buck Alec Robinson. A feared loyalist killer in 1920s Belfast, in more recent times he has featured as a lion-keeping “character” on wall murals and in tourist guide books. Robinson is employed as a case study to investigate two separate but, in this case, interlinked historiographical debates. The first involves Norbert Elias's analysis of the decline of violence. The second relates to discussion of the analysis of social memory in working-class communities, with violence being placed therein. The article supports historical assessments suggesting that the “civilizing offensive” had an uneven impact. That point is usually made in the context of working-class men. This article extends it to political elites in Belfast and probes their flirtations with violent hard men. The case is made that it is a mistake to assume the “civilizing” dynamic is to be understood as a teleological or top-down process.