This chapter addresses Arthurian romance and its transition from manuscript to print in the Renaissance, in its four European heartlands, France, Germany, Iberia and Italy. The first printed editions appear in the last decades of the sixteenth century, and seem to have met with success, with printer-publishers capitalising on the popularity of Arthuriana in manuscript: extending or condensing, resurrecting more obscure romances and adapting them to new tastes, modernising language – but also furnishing, in the face of moralists’ disapproval, alluring prefaces which stress their educational and moral value, and their importance as records of ancestry and hence for the revival of ancestral chivalry. Increasingly, however, publishers look to novelty, turning to new heroes like Amadis de Gaule, or Perceforest, or new adventures for familiar heroes, witness Maugin’s Nouveau Tristan. Ultimately, however, Arthurian romances come to seem trivial, or morally suspect, or simply outdated – and they are largely discarded by printers.

Commencing with the Welsh Peredur and Chrétien de Troyes’s Conte du Graal, this chapter traces the material dissemination of Grail romances across Northern Europe from the late twelfth century through to c.1550. Comparing and contrasting print and manuscript traditions from a book historical perspective, the geographical coverage includes France, England, Wales, Germany and the Low Countries, as well as Northern European territories into which Grail literature appears not to have entered, such as Sweden and Norway. In addition to setting out a clear chronology of Grail text dissemination and publication, the study shows how the proliferation (or not) of Grail book production over time offers insights into the cultural and sociopolitical contexts in which the literary motif of the Grail could be employed to greatest effect.

This chapter explores the Spanish Inquisition’s interest in and attempts at censorship of printed texts with an eye to the steps and nuances of that process. It might appear as if the Spanish Inquisition was a formidable and relentless means of ideological control. Yet inquisitors’ implementation of censorship mandates was inevitably piecemeal because the institution’s personnel and authority were limited. Despite inquisitorial efforts, prohibited texts circulated through the Spanish empire, and bans did not apply equally to all the residents of Spanish territories. Some readers were licensed to consume prohibited texts; some banned texts escaped the libraries of those authorized to own them and circulated among the general reading public; the degree to which Spaniards were affected by the Inquisition’s textual regulations depended on their status. Scholars do not agree on the effects of inquisitorial censorship on Spanish intellectual and cultural life, and it remains a fruitful topic for investigation.

Irish romantic literature was made from a fluid relationship between orality, manuscript and print. Exploring this relationship via the writings of Thomas Dermody, Charlotte Brooke, Mary Tighe and James Orr while also using the better known cases of Maria Edgeworth, Sydney Owenson and Thomas Moore as signposts, the chapter argues for a bookish romanticism shaped by scarcity.

African popular intellectuals in colonial Freetown, Sierra Leone, during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries produced public writing in which they lamented the danger of reading ‘like a European’, or quick and mechanical reading practices, which they argued led to the degeneration of the ‘African mind’. This chapter’s case study of Orishatukeh Faduma’s 1919 Sierra Leone Weekly News column, ‘How to Cultivate a Love For Reading,’ reveals how contributors in Freetown reimagined transatlantic public anxieties about race, nationhood, and madness to encourage local readers to ‘read like an African’, which meant slowly, selectively, and critically. Through public writing, Faduma and other popular intellectuals turned globally popular understandings of racial madness on their head to generate the ‘right’ kind of African reader. They used the press to produce a distinctly African literary culture in between the local and the global, and thus used literacy as a social vehicle of colonial self-making.

This chapter focuses on the urban engines of the Revolution, America’s cities. Exploring the whole panorama of urban life provides a proper understanding of the role towns played in setting the Revolution in motion. Towns were anchors of an Atlantic world in which, as dynamic and expanding places, they were a source of novelty, tension, and disorder. The question is, therefore, why and how did this dynamic fuel a revolutionary movement in the thirteen colonies of mainland North America but not in the cities of the British Caribbean or indeed Britain itself? To address this conundrum is to understand better the part played by towns in the development of an American Revolution. More specifically, it helps historians grasp the settlements’ importance not only as towns, but as colonial towns.

Laws that prohibited enslaved people from learning to read and write first appeared in the South in the decades before the Revolution. Newspapers were expanding, and literacy rates among white colonists were rising. The first such clause, designed to forbid writing, appeared in South Carolina’s slave statute of 1740, enacted in response to the 1739 Stono Uprising. As enslaved populations grew, other colonies followed this example and expanded on it, establishing a pattern of hostility to all forms of Black literacy and education that persisted beyond emancipation and far into modern American life. Though strict enforcement was impossible, these laws had a huge impact. They created a virtual “Blackout” for generations of enslaved African Americans, and they fostered an abiding Southern suspicion of education and book learning. Historians often overlook the scope and importance of this mass deprivation, emphasizing instead the physical brutality and hardships inflicted by the slavery regime.

Travel manuscripts and printed books tell us how scribes and printers had to think carefully about representing foreign lands. Sometimes this meant turning the ordinary into the marvellous to capture the imagination of their readers; at other times this meant turning the strange into the recognisable. The manuscripts and printed books they produced translated tales of the unfamiliar into material palatable for domestic readers, which often required a careful balance of accuracy in relating travellers’ accounts and imagination to satisfy readers’ appetites for novelties. This essay looks at how travel literature circulated in manuscripts, how printers took advantage of the appetite for travel narratives, and what hybrid forms of manuscript and print tell us about who was reading them and the way travel literature was being read. As travel literature is a broad category that encompasses marvellous accounts, diaries, itineraries, letters, guidebooks, devotional aids, maps, and other narratives, my aim is not to offer a comprehensive overview but a few examples that demonstrate how the material context of travel literature can reveal much about their reception, use, and development.

This chapter situates the poets' collections from Long Ago (1889) through Wild Honey from Various Thyme (1908) within late-nineteenth-century ideas about lyric as simultaneously sung and printed, private and public, enclosed and open. Departing from a 1906 diary entry proclaiming the draw of their 'lyric bedrooms', this chapter considers how Michael Field write lyric poems that negotiate between enclosed indoor space and outdoor space, between the personal and the poetic present and past, and between states of sleep and consciousness, between poetry idealised as oral and aural while realised as printed and visual. Michael Field’s poetry collections present a palimpsest of the past and present, both of their personal, domestic lives and of the newly consolidated genre of lyric poetry in the fin de siècle.

Two networks transformed the early modern world. The first was the Iberian network of discoverers and conquerors that helped usher in an age of European world domination and colonialism. The second was facilitated by a new technology, printing, which helped unleash the huge religious and political disruption we know as the Reformation. What Niall Ferguson describes as a “religious virus that came to be known as Protestantism” disrupted an ancient ecclesiastical hierarchy, fractured into many pieces Europe’s Catholic Christianity, and ushered in a long era of violent conflict. This chapter investigates religious networks within the Lutheran, Reformed, and Radical wings of the Reformation and highlights the formation, evolution, suppression, and ultimate survival of the Jesuit Order as a classic transnational network within Catholic Christianity.

Historians of Christianity, even when innovative in theory and method, have mostly written within national, denominational, or institutional frameworks. Yet many of the most important changes and developments within Christianity have been transnational in scope, trans-denominational in character, and not easily contained within institutional or hierarchical structures. What difference would it make to reimagine the history of Christianity in terms of transnational networks, nodal junction boxes of encounter and transmission, and a greater sense of the core memes and messages of religious traditions and expressions? That is the principal question to be explored in the following chapters.

The conclusion, Victorian Ignorance, places the history that Selling Sexual Knowledge has traced into conversation with the emergence of a new history of sexual knowledge at the dawn of the twentieth century. While considering how well publishing activities that the book explores would have served Victorian readers, it argues that the ways Victorians discussed their reading experiences evince what the historian Kate Fisher has called an “epistemology of sexual ignorance,” in which sexual knowledge is thought of as a set of facts that must be learned through interaction with an expert. It further argues that commercial and rhetorical practices explored in the book not only encouraged this way of conceptualizing sexual knowledge, but helped foster the emergence of a historical narrative about Victorian censorship that would serve as a powerful justification for sexual-scientific research and sex reform movements in the twentieth century. At the same time, this narrative would obfuscate the extent to which Victorians enjoyed access to sexual information in the new age of mass print.

This chapter delves into the production of scientific knowledge and its practice within the expansive temporal and geographical scope of the Ottoman Empire. Organized chronologically into two main sections, the chapter portrays the foundational scientific institutions and conventions while also introducing the textual and material facets of scientific enterprises. Through this focused lens, the chapter traces the enduring and evolving elements of scientific pursuits and their sociopolitical implications from the fifteenth through the nineteenth centuries.

How did literature and politics blend in nineteenth-century oratory? This chapter argues that the admixture was always particular. Thus it begins by explicating three moments of ordinary oratorical practice in Philadelphia in 1855: a gubernatorial inaugural by James Pollock, an oration by the student Jacob C. White Jr. at the Institute for Colored Youth, and a speech by delegate Mary Ann Shadd at the Colored National Convention. Themes germane to nineteenth-century oratory emerge from these examples: its ubiquity and variety, the interactions of oratorical and print cultures, the critical role of audiences in producing meanings of oratorical events, and the ephemeral characteristics of embodied performance. Further, the emphasis in these examples on freedom, citizenship, learning, leadership, and democratic life highlights political debates on racial justice, slavery, colonization, and emigration, demonstrating the myriad ways in which oratory in the nineteenth-century United States can supply an avenue into culture, voice, and lived experience that helps explain trajectories to our own time.