Chapter 24 describes Clarice Lispector’s 1964 novel A paixão segundo G. H. as a rite of passage whereby the protagonist G. H. transitions from the realm of the intelligible to that of the inscrutable. Within this process, subjecthood and otherness do not merely face one another; rather, they engage in a tangible encounter. The chapter examines the physicality of this interaction by examining how concrete space and other material objects inform G. H.’s introspective and nomadic journey. The protagonist’s movement – from her apartment to the maid’s quarters, and subsequently to an empty closet where she confronts a cockroach – reflects a series of progressively constricted spatial boundaries. These diminishing spatial spheres serve as a metaphor for G. H.’s intensified concentration on her own subjective experience. Reading A Paixão segundo G. H. transcends mere social practice to constitute an unsettling yet ultimately enriching experience, whereby readers, in tandem with the protagonist, undertake a parallel journey of introspection and self-discovery.

This chapter shows how, contrary to modern assumptions, the Press distinguished between Historical and “Gothic” or Terror Fiction and how, contrary to what Romantic critics pretended, Minerva’s women authors ridiculed and dismissed Walpolean Gothic with its specters and clanking chains. Eliza Parsons, Anna Maria Mackenzie, Mary Meeke, Isabella Kelly, Agnes Mulgrave, Regina Maria Roche and anonymous others innovated, instead, by displacing the language of terror to the “unnatural” or criminal acts that families hid from public view – primarily husbands’ sadistic domestic abuse, incest, bigamy and fratricide – while inflecting “Gothic Romance” into the Mystery Story. They also imported and developed the “German” uncanny in a line leading straight to Collins, Bradden, Brockden Brown, Hawthorne and Poe, and taught readers to be skeptical both of names and of stories.

This chapter explores how lay people participated in liturgical singing in the fourth through sixth centuries. Unlike Byzantine writers who explained or analysed particular emotions, liturgical poets situated singers within, beside and against the feelings animating a particular biblical event and its ritualisation. Three types of liturgical singing are the focus of this investigation: 1) psalmody in Jerusalem, as described by the late-fourth-century pilgrim Egeria and prescribed a fifth-century book of ritual instructions (known today as the Armenian Lectionary); 2) sixth-century hymns composed by Romanos the Melodist for specific feast days in Constantinople; 3) a Jerusalem chantbook, which survives in Georgian translation, which expands on biblical odes sung as part of daily lay worship. Although the melodies of these songs are lost, their lyrics provide valuable insights into lay people’s emotions in early Byzantine Jerusalem and Constantinople. With closer attention to performative dimensions of these songs, historians may better understand the emotional experiences of lay congregations.

Chapter 6 introduces EdTech 2.0, a new phase in educational technology defined by evidence-driven design, accountability, and stronger alignment with learning science. It contrasts this era with EdTech 1.0, which prioritized rapid scale and engagement over proven educational impact. The chapter outlines how emerging funding models, such as outcomes-based contracting and impact investment, are reshaping incentives, rewarding tools that demonstrate measurable learning improvements. It highlights the growing infrastructure supporting EdTech 2.0, including national catalogs, research testbeds, and academia–industry partnerships that foster rigorous evaluation and continuous improvement. Central to this shift are structural changes such as quality assurance frameworks and benchmarking systems like the 5Es, which assess effectiveness, equity, ethics, efficacy and environment. The chapter also examines certification as a trusted signal of quality and explores how similar benchmarking is being extended to AI-enabled tools. It concludes by positioning EdTech 2.0 as a sustainable, research-aligned ecosystem poised to deliver real educational impact.

This chapter surveys Byzantine pneumatology in three directions. First, it undertakes to present a synopsis of the Spirit’s divine identity and hypostatic particularities in polemical contexts, as illustrated by Athanasius’ Letters to Serapion, Basil’s On the Holy Spirit, Gregory of Constantinople’s Fifth Theological Oration, and Photios’ Mystagogy of the Holy Spirit. Second, and drawing on some of these and other patristic sources (Basil’s Homilies on the Hexaemeron, John Chrysostom’s Homilies on Genesis) in addition to liturgical texts such as the matins antiphons, the chapter addresses aspects of the Spirit’s economy, such as its participation in creation, providence and sanctification. Third, it considers matters pertaining to the Spirit’s presence in the lives of glorified saints according to Cyril of Alexandria’s Commentary on John and Homilies on Luke, Maximos the Confessor’s Ambigua, various Byzantine homilists, Symeon the New Theologian’s Discourses and hesychast writings (Gregory of Sinai, Gregory Palamas).

Representations of Heaven and Hell were of paramount importance in Byzantine monumental art to help the faithful visualise the eternal consequences of their actions. This chapter will explore the synergy between liturgy and the representations of Heaven and Hell within the space of the Byzantine church. Together they alerted all the senses and created a lasting impact on the faithful congregation, an ‘image’ which they could carry with them outside the spatial confinements of the church to enhance their chances in their quest of Paradise. To achieve this, the chapter will engage four case studies dated to the late Byzantine period: the Chora monastery in Constantinople (terminus ante quem 1321), a monument that epitomises Palaiologan art, and three examples from Venetian Crete, a former Byzantine territory that remained religiously and culturally closely attached to the dying empire until 1453. These examples present distinctly different moments in reaching Paradise: Church of St John the Baptist, Deliana (c. 1300?), where the gates of Paradise are depicted hermetically closed; Chora Monastery and Church of the Holy Apostles, Kavousi (first decade of the fifteenth century), where St Peter is about to open the gates of Paradise; and Church of St John the Baptist, Axos (1390s), where the gates of Paradise are open.

As noted in Chapter 6, relevant logics have, in a sense, been concerned with modal considerations from the start. Anderson and Belnap studied the logic E of entailment, which was supposed to capture necessity and relevance. They were concerned with rejecting both fallacies of relevance, such as weakening, p → (q → p), and fallaciesof modality.1

This chapter examines the important role of Thomas Greenleaf, who used his press to oppose New York’s ratification of the Constitution and keep a wary eye on leaders of the Republic until his death from Yellow Fever in 1798. In revisiting the Anti-Federalist positions in his columns and tracts vis-a-vis those found in The Federalist Papers, I argue that the importance of this debate was not simply in its outcome, but how positions on both sides responded to each other and evolved – the inclusion of the Bill of Rights in 1791 being the most prominent result. Greenleaf’s press, purchased from the family of John Holt, took the side of the tradesman, the mechanic, and small landowner. Central to Greenleaf’s convictions was a concern that the rights of the common man would be stripped by powerful, self-serving “aristocrats.” As I examine, several of Greenleaf’s contributors were also strident in their critique of slavery. Greenleaf’s press was also a key disseminator of a pamphlet by Mercy Otis Warren, the only woman known to publish on the Federalism debates. Many of the issues raised in Greenleaf’s prints have renewed relevancy today, adding to the value of a reconsideration of Anti-Federalist positions.

Chapter 3 explores Manuel Antônio de Almeida’s Memórias de um sargento de milícias, published in 1852–53. It explains the novel’s political messages, which were subtly shared with its original readers, allowing modern audiences to interpret Almeida’s story similarly. The chapter highlights the use of a trompe l’œil effect that recreates the political scene from the “time of the king” (1808–21), offering a sharp but indirect critique of Brazil’s social and political situation in the 1850s – as one era reflects the other. While earlier studies mostly focused on the novel’s social aspects, this chapter uncovers a clearer political meaning grounded in real events rather than guesswork. Regarding race, although Memórias de um sargento de milícias includes non-white characters, its satirical style prevents it from directly tackling racial issues, especially slavery.

Chapter 4 examines the core principles behind designing effective EdTech, emphasizing that technological innovation must be grounded in how children learn, feel, and act. The chapter argues that socio-emotional learning (SEL) is not an optional add-on but a foundational component of impactful digital tools, as children’s motivation, confidence, and emotional regulation shape every learning interaction. It discusses how thoughtfully designed EdTech can foster these skills through supportive feedback, collaborative activities, and features that nurture perseverance and curiosity. A central focus is student agency, that is the ability of learners to make choices, influence their learning pathways, and engage meaningfully with content. The chapter demonstrates how design choices can either amplify agency or unintentionally limit it. Drawing on research examples, it outlines practical design principles that integrate SEL, agency, and cognitive science to create tools that genuinely enhance learning. The conclusion calls for intentional, evidence-aligned design as the backbone of responsible EdTech development.

Chapter 22 takes a close look at Graciliano Ramos’ 1938 novel Vidas secas through the idea of a “deep Brazil.” This concept suggests that after the failures of Romanticism, early twentieth-century fiction renewed its search for Brazil’s true identity. Ramos, being from the northeast, turned his attention to the region’s hinterlands, its people, and their struggles – subjects he knew intimately. The chapter also places Ramos’ life and the making of Vidas secas in context. It shows how the novel both embraces and transcends regionalism, creating a dynamic “pendulum movement” whereby tradition and modernity, continuity and change, exist side by side. The social aspects are highlighted, and the novel’s loosely connected chapters are described as a narrative “archipelago.” Ultimately, the chapter argues that Vidas secas moves beyond its regional focus to address a broader theme: the endless suffering of humanity.

Lane ignored Perrault in favor of repeatedly publishing and repurposing his rival seventeenth-century French conteuses, most notably Mme D’Aulnoy. While addressing many of the same domestic and political issues as Minerva Terror Fiction and Minerva Historicals, these contes de fée unsentimentally performed their promise, “Whatever you wish you shall have,” while warning readers to be careful what they wished for. The second section considers novel Minerva fictions that preempted nineteenth-century realism by infusing magical fairy-tale materials into novels conducted in the real world.

Looking broadly at the place of Scripture in the Byzantine Church, this chapter focuses on the place and symbolism of the Gospel reading in the Divine Liturgy. The reader is provided with an overview of the various manuscripts used in the liturgical rite and the Biblical readings deployed therein, as well as an outline of the rites in the Divine Liturgy that surround the recitation of the Gospel. Using as a case study the Christmas Day reading found in an illustrated lectionary, now at the Vatican Library (Vat. gr. 1156), the chapter walks the reader through the variety of evidence preserved in Byzantine Gospel lectionaries for understanding the performance of the liturgy, the chanting of the Gospel text and the artistic and scribal practices of the manuscript tradition. Through this chapter, readers will gain a better understanding of how the Gospel was recited in the Byzantine Church, while also acquiring a sense of the various primary and secondary sources for undertaking further research in this area of study.

Chapter 15 examines Brazil’s military dictatorship period (1964–85) through three key novels: Mariluce Moura’s 1982 Revolta das vísceras, Fernando Bonassi’s 2003 Prova contrária, and Bernardo Kucinski’s 2011 K.: relato de uma busca. It places these works alongside three important legal milestones that shaped Brazil’s reckoning with its past: the 1979 Amnesty Law, the 1995 Law of the Disappeared, and the 2012 creation of the National Truth Commission. More than just literary contributions, these novels engage deeply with the politics of memory prevalent when they were written. Together, they reveal both ongoing themes and sharp breaks in how Brazilian novels have responded to the dictatorship across five decades. A common thread is their focus on women involved with the revolutionary Left in the late 1960s and early 1970s, each grappling in her own way with the long-lasting trauma of political disappearances.