Peace Not War: Traditions of Restorative Justice in Imperial Ethiopia, 1769–1960 traces the use and improvements made to restorative justice practices that characterized Ethiopian history into the early twentieth century. Overlapping, the book also assesses the pull of modernity that both forced and lured Ethiopia to cast aside its endogenously evolved legal remedies and adopt European jurisprudence that aligned more with retributive justice. This Epilogue demonstrates how thorough and encompassing was this transition to retributive justice, for when the Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) overthrew the Marxist dictatorship in 1991 and felt the necessity to apply transitional justice to try Derg members (Amharic for Committee and the term popularly used to refer to the military junta) in a court trial for their crimes against humanity and genocide, the EPRDF leadership did not even entertain the use of Ethiopia's traditions of restorative justice.

Peace Not War's agenda is twofold. First, it contributes to the literature on restorative justice by showing how Ethiopia, through trial and error, corrected the “forgive and forget” ideation of restorative justice as one-and-done, blanket amnesties that, as was shown (Chapter 2), did not bring about reconciliation, but rather encouraged enmity and war. It also demonstrated that historical analysis can uplift significant improvements that were made to restorative justice modalities through the development of “conditional forgiveness” that evinced ingenuity, flexibility, and adaptability to, in fact, reconcile warring parties and bring about lasting peace. Second, the historical method possesses a perhaps unintended consequence, for, by focusing on the way national threats to the sovereignty of the state were resolved, it outlined how one legal remedy was supplanted by another – restorative for retributive justice.

The 1688 Revolution, much like the accession of Elizabeth I, the regicide, the Interregnum, and the Popish Plot, did not halt the Catholic book trade. It did not stop the presence of Catholics in England or erase the appetite of Protestants for Catholic works. There remained a consistent presence of a Catholic book market based in London that serviced the city, the country, and even the continent. While statistically this market might have comprised only a minor part of the greater English book trade, its impact was extensive. ‘Popish books’ represented both a great source of anxiety and a common commodity explored by many Protestants and Catholics. In London, these books were produced through cross-confessional networks of bookmen, often linked to urban-based Catholic patrons, including Catherine of Braganza, which increasingly coalesced around the Lincoln's Inn Fields area. These networks utilised contemporary methods of production, circulation, and obfuscation, and understood the political, literary, and financial realities that shaped the Restoration market. At the same time, they engaged in older, established Catholic systems of survival based around missionaries and recusant communities. Religious bonds merged with associations formed around commercial and social ties. The print trade survived through the combination of these methods and networks and owed much of its success to the involvement, for various reasons, of Protestants. These demonstrably adaptable networks persisted even through moments of intense anti-popery and continued to evolve during James VII/II's short-lived experiment in royally legitimised Catholic print. As a result, these networks manage to capture both elements of the classic Catholic divide between the ‘inward’ needs of a Catholic religious group and its ‘outward’ engagement with a Protestant majority.

Eighteenth-century perspectives on judicial modernity

It is always an interesting exercise to observe how the Enlightenment culture projected its idea of modernity onto European institutions – political, legal and social – of preceding centuries, an idea to which we are still deeply attached. The administration of justice, and thus the governing of violence and conflict, concerns the most fundamental dynamics of communal living, and the Enlightenment was able to grasp the centrality of peace in laying the foundations of legal institutions arising from the dissolution of the ancient world. In the eighteenth-century debate, from France to Scotland, the formation of Roman–barbarian realms, with the consequent emergence of feudal institutions, was generally identified as the birth of Europe, as is well known.

In the XXXth book of the Esprit des lois (The Spirit of Laws), in chapter XIX, when addressing the issue of the Compositions chez les peuples barbares (On Compositions among the Barbarous Nations), Montesquieu provides very precise coordinates useful for conceptually placing peace in the development of European civilisation. Just before, in the XXVIIIth book, the great French philosopher had outlined the main differences between Salic law and the laws of other barbarian peoples regarding compositions (financial settlements), the judicial evidence required (such as duelling), and the point of honour. Now, drawing on Tacitus, Montesquieu reminds us that among the Germans hatred was quenched through a composition, as only two types of criminals were punished with death: traitors (by hanging) and cowards (by drowning).

Este libro quizá se empezó a escribir antes de que tú y yo estuviéramos vivos. Tal vez podría situarse hace 15 000 años, cuando personas cruzaron el estrecho de Bering (Rutherford 2016); cuando los grupos mesoamericanos se enfrentaron en batallas y tuvieron intercambios interoceánicos (Duverger 2008; Borrell 2007) o cuando se realizó la peregrinación de la mítica Aztlán hasta Tenochtitlán, tal como representa la Tira de la peregrinación del códice Boturini (INAH 2014). Este libro quizá se empezó a escribir cuando Malinalli Tenépat —“La Malinche”— jugó un rol fundamental como traductora entre los españoles, nahuas y mayas (Franco 2004); cuando los escritos de sor Juana Inés de la Cruz se publicaron en España y fueron cimiento del intercambio cultural atlanticista de la época colonial (Glantz 1994) o cuando Francisco Xavier Mina y Servando Teresa de Mier se reunieron en Inglaterra y Estados Unidos con el propósito de llevar a cabo acciones en favor de la independencia mexicana (Herrera y Santa Cruz 2011).

Naija, the colloquial name for Nigeria, is known for its resilience, relentless drive, creativity, and hustle spirit. This vibrant energy, aptly captured in pidgin ‘Naija no dey carry last’ is undoubtedly a microcosm of the city Lagos. As the former capital of Nigeria, Lagos represents the beating heart of the country. From the yellow rickety Danfos to the aggressive vendors in the bustling streets of Ikoyi or third mainland bridge, and the notorious gridlocked traffic, Lagos encapsulates the complexities of the country's untapped potential. Therefore, it is not surprising that many authors have depicted this resilient city in their works across various literary genres. This focus on Lagos persists even within the Africanfuturist genre, as seen in the works of four notable authors. Within the Africanfuturist genre, Nnedi Okorafor reimagines Lagos in her first novel Lagoon as a space that aliens invade, while Suyi Okungbowa in his novel, David Mogo, Godhunter, situates Lagos as a mystical, fantastical space where Yoruba deities battle for power and control. Like Okorafor, Tade Thompson envisions an alien spaceship, what he calls a ‘biodome,’ invades Nigeria, settling somewhere around Lagos. Also, Wole Talabi, depicts Lagos as a dystopian, post-apocalyptic city in his short story titled ‘The Last Lagosian.’ That these four authors choose Lagos as a setting in their narratives, suggests that the city is an appropriate site for science-fictional engagements. Badagry, Lagos was the first part of Nigeria to become a British colony – also where slave traders did their trade.

The aim of this chapter is to analyse the contributions of the Portuguese Maria Amália Vaz de Carvalho to the Brazilian newspaper O País (Rio de Janeiro, 1884–1934). In order to understand the writer's trajectory, we must reflect on the technical and social transformations that marked the transition from the nineteenth to the twentieth century. On the other hand, her refined education, her family's social standing, the constant support she received at home, and her marriage to an intellectual are some of the aspects that supported her inclusion in the world of writing, though it should be noted that her work was always reviewed by her peers under the shadow of the clearly expressed gender hierarchies of the time. Her favourite themes can be ascertained from a careful reading of her contributions to the widely circulated Brazilian daily: her conservative stance towards the feminist demands that were gaining strength at the time, but also her role as a cultural mediator, since she introduced and commented on myriad writers, philosophers, legal experts, historians, scientists, and visual artists, be them contemporary or classic figures.

Technical innovations and social changes in the late nineteenth century

Having lived from 1847 to 1921, the writer witnessed the profound transformations that marked the turn of the twentieth century. Her professional career was made possible by technical innovations and the consequent opportunities, starting with railroads and steamships, that not only allowed people to cross continents and oceans in a much shorter time, but also brought a new pace to daily life, due to set routes and predictable schedules, in so far as overcoming long distances was no longer an undertaking shrouded in risk and uncertainty.

In her essay “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power,” Audre Lorde writes that women have been taught that to be strong, they must suppress the erotic. According to Lorde, this strength is an illusion as it was created in the context of patriarchal models of power. In Lorde's view, the erotic is not “the confused, the trivial, the psychotic, plasticized sensation” found in pornography, but instead “a measure between the beginnings of our sense of self and the chaos of our strongest feelings.” Lorde explains that the word erotic is derived from the Greek word eros, “the personification of love in all its aspects—born of chaos, and personifying creative power and harmony.” Lorde understands the erotic as “an assertion of the lifeforce of women; of that creative energy empowered, the knowledge and use of which we are now reclaiming in our language, our history, our dancing, our loving, our work, our lives.”

In his work An Account of the State of England in Anno Domini 1600, which included details of England's economy in 1600, Thomas Wilson wrote that in Norwich, children between the ages of six and ten years earned ￡12,000 sterling annually towards their keep, chiefly by knitting fine jersey stockings. He also stated that “every child being able at or soone after seven yeares to earne 4 shillings a week att that trade, which the marchants uttered [i.e. put for sale] att London; and some tradeing with France and other parts.”

Hand knitting in England was a domestic employment in this period, with no structure or regulatory body, which means no systematic records exist. A wide range of archival records, including household accounts and national and local government documents, shows that knitted jersey stockings were well known in England at this date. Wilson's comments are a very rare thing: information on the work of child textile workers in a specific area of England in 1600, and the markets for their product, complete with numerical data. Although other evidence shows that Wilson's estimate of earnings of four shillings a week for children is far too high, other sources confirm the existence of child knitters in Yarmouth and Norwich and a trade in jersey stockings in the late Tudor period. These include Yarmouth export port books, which detail both the trade in jersey stockings and their traders who can be linked to Norwich, and the 1570 census of the poor in Norwich, which records child knitters.

Ehu, oh Ehu, my bride

I love you with pride

Adorned by the stones

That line up your thrones

Have my allegiance

Paid to your radiance

Brightening every day

In no staggered way

Oh the waist that shook

When my eyes did look

From the shoulders on

To your face like Zion

How you made me strong

I’ll do you no wrong

My courage, I’ll try!

I will throw Akpai

Kpo…kpo…kpotimgba

Og’ Amamgbala

Is full with viewers

And atamajas

I will throw Akpai

To create you and I

Just me and Ehu

My sweet sweet Ehu

When Akpai is down

And I have the crown

When the gong will sound

Your voice will resound

Dancing with radiance

Your nipples shooting

To me-ward pointing

Bleaching, beckoning

To my reckoning

I shall pick your face

Beholding your grace

Eyeball to eyeline

I shall read the line

The pleasant parting

The most precious thing

Oh your pair of lips

That of longing drips

And a pair of eyes

That all the truth tells

Solemnly piercing

Sweetly tingling

My thin blood has heard

My muscle is hard

Even in this state

I shall know to state

And know to adore

Your priceless glamour

My truly pure one

Till your heart I’ve won

And your price I’ve paid

I shan't have you laid

I shall not shame you

My beloved Ehu

Nor shall I abuse

Nor shall I use

Your innocence to play?

Your waiting delay?

Nor your loving mock?

No no I won't mock!

I won't mock my bride

In my bride I’ll pride

On my Ehugbo

I’ll build my ugbo

The fairies of Shakespeare's plays are not typical of the fairies of early modern belief. While the fairies in Shakespeare's most famous play, A Midsummer Night's Dream, are portrayed as relatively benign, and ultimately good, the fairies of early modern England were almost universally viewed as evil spirits. The darker opinion of fairies in early modern England is attested to in a variety of sources, including literary, religious, legal, and contemporary works of scholarship. The early modern English material on fairies establishes two things: first, that fairies were considered real, in the sense that they were believed to be real beings who really inhabited the English countryside, and second, that they were pernicious.

In A Discourse Concerning Devils and Spirits, first appearing in print as an appendix to the 1665 edition of Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft, the anonymous author discusses the abodes of fairies and like creatures:

Subordinate unto these of the Air, are the Terrestrial Spirits, which are of several degrees according to the places which they occupy, as Woods, Mountains, Caves, Fens, Mines, Ruins, Desolate Places, and Ancient Buildings, called by the Ancient Heathens after various names, as Nymphs, Satyrs, Lamii, Dryades, Sylvanes, Cobali … And more particularly Faeries …

All of these locales are places that would be found in the countryside, and all are the sorts of ordinary places that English villagers would be familiar with in their area.

Pede Hollist's So the Path Does Not Die is the culmination of the migration process. The novel accomplishes two distinct objectives in this chapter: first, it extends the conversation on the theory of the new hybridity in Americanah in the previous chapter. It uses the hyphenated identity of Dimusu-Celeste, the child born to Cammy and Finaba, to explore this construct. I use Sten Moslund's concept of a globalized society as context to situate this hypothesis.

Second, the novel introduces the concept of constructive liminality as a pathway to navigating dual identities in the migrant's homeland. I posit an aesthetic of liminality to examine returned migrants with dual nationalities trying to make sense of the demands of the in-between space this identity offers them. Liminality as a framework to explore the possibilities to return migration posits that the migration process has not come to an end. Rather, it creates a space where the process for reconciling cultural opposites can be enacted. By its duality, the space allows for an embrace of Indigenous identity while also retaining some indications of Western acculturation as symbolized by the American passport. Constructive liminality posits that this brand of returned migrants occupies a liminal space that is both productive and ambivalent, an opposition with possibilities for a synthesis. Finaba can still embrace her Sierra Leonean identity while also keeping her American passport. Dimusu-Celeste can reclaim her African ancestry while still keeping her Caribbean one. This ability to reconcile seemingly opposing identities creates the context for understanding the benefits that a liminal framework to theorizing return provides.

This book began as a follow-up to a little monograph of fewer than eighty pages, published in 1996 as Viking Raids on Irish Church Settlements in the Ninth Century: a Reconsideration of the Annals. It was originally my intention simply to expand that close, mostly quantitative analysis of Viking raiding to cover the tenth century, up to the era of the battle of Clontarf in 1014, after which church-raiding is of little significance and all but disappears from Irish annalistic records. That is what is presented in the shorter first part of this book, comprising about one-third of the whole. Inasmuch as the book is a follow-up to the essay of 1996, it has been long in the making, its completion delayed by numerous distractions. Not least of these has been the pursuit, over more than twenty years, of shorter pieces of research, several on wholly unrelated topics, but many concerned with Vikings.

Apart from a survey (in French) of the annalistic evidence for the Vikings, these extended beyond Viking raiding of churches to other aspects: political relations between Vikings in Ireland, north Wales, Man and the Scottish Isles; the location of the Viking polity/polities designated Laithlinn/Lochlann, the first of which intervened in Ireland in the mid-ninth century; the terminology used for Vikings in the Irish annals, notably the controversial usages ‘Dark Foreigners’ and ‘Fair Foreigners’; the location and military significance of the crucial battle of Cenn Fúait in 917; the impact of the Vikings on the church of Glendalough; the light shed by the Hiberno-German-Latin Vita Findani on early Viking captive taking in Ireland and on the date of Viking settlement in northern Scotland; the historical significance of the early Viking base at Linn Dúachaill/Annagassan, in the context of Viking strategies in England and Francia in the first half of the ninth century; Viking-Age ships and fleets as reflected in the Irish annals; a review of the military and general historical significance of the famous battle of Clontarf; a further study of Viking captive taking and the relative importance of a slave trade in Ireland and beyond.

The evidence presented by the Protests recorded in the Malacca Prothocol Books provides a distinctive perspective on British and other European activities in the East Indies in the last decade of the eighteenth and first decades of the nineteenth centuries. This was an era when sail was a vital means of travel for people, of transportation for goods and of communication, both personal and official. The country traders participated in all these undertakings but their raison d’être was trade, where disruption by misadventure meant delay, and every delay a potential loss of profit.

The misadventures described in the Protests highlight at first hand the ever-present dangers faced by country traders sailing in the Bay of Bengal, the Malay Archipelago and the South China Sea. In addition to the normal hazards that mariners everywhere encountered, it can be argued that sailors in this part of the world had to deal with additional and more intense hazards: they had to sail through the monsoon storms of the Bay of Bengal, navigate the narrow channels of the Malacca Strait and Western Malay Archipelago and they had to prevail against the typhoons of the South China Sea. Not only that, the European sailors had to safely guide their vessels through an alien region far from home where hostility to foreign intervention often prevailed and the norms of some societies encouraged the seizure of foreign vessels. They also had to deal with the political fallout in the East Indies engendered by European wars.

The calamities were mostly met with on voyages between India and Canton or within the seas of the Malay Archipelago itself and were recorded at Malacca because it was a traditional staging post with the appropriate facilities.