Turning from the pulpit to the courtroom, Chapter 4 demonstrates the centrality of frenzy to what would later come to be termed the ‘insanity defence’. The English common law had its own framework for classifying mental illness, one which ran parallel to the medical nosologies explored in Chapter 1. This chapter explores the different categories of ‘madness’ recognizsed by early modern common lawyers – partial versus total, continual versus intermittent – and shows where frenzy fitted within this framework. It then turns to look at how these theories were mobilized in a specific legal context: coroners’ inquests into unexplained drownings. Where suicide was suspected, it argues, a story about frenzy – told right – offered an escape route for suspects and their families. Crucial, here, was the issue of culpability: frantic persons could not be held accountable for what they did while their wits were impaired. Without the capacity for consent, crime was impossible.

The book ends with a brief Postscript on not reading letters. It examines the correspondence between Keats’s friend and carer Joseph Severn and Keats’s friends back in London as the poet is dying in Rome in the winter of 1820–1. The correspondence records how, having effectively stopped writing poetry more than a year earlier, Keats is now no longer able to read, let alone write, even letters. The chapter argues that this epistolary stoppage has itself fed into the cultural reception of the life and work of a poet who has become admired, respected, and loved for his correspondence as much as for his poems.

Chapter 1 tracks frenzy’s trajectory as a medical diagnosis between 1500 and 1700. It offers an introduction to frenzy as it was understood by eight medical practitioners, four of whom came of age in a time of relative stability in English medicine (1560–1640) and four in a time of rapid change (1640–1700). It shows how, from the mid seventeenth century, the old humoral definition of frenzy was altered to fit new medical philosophies – chemical, mechanistic, and corpuscular – and new models of human physiology. Tracing the contours of the disease over two centuries, it highlights points of continuity as well as change. Throughout this period, it argues, theorists from diverse schools explained frenzy’s effects with reference both to the solid structures of the body and the fluids which flowed through them. This chapter argues that it was the devastating effects of brain disease which galvanized medical theorists to seek to explain disorders of the mind as disruptions of material ‘animal spirits’.

A wealth of primary sources documents Vasari’s meticulous planning for his posthumous commemoration, his death, and his heirs’ execution of his final wishes. This final chapter explores Vasari’s death and the fate of his earthly remains, as well as the unique place his high altar for the Pieve occupies within the tradition of funerary monuments and chapels made by and for early modern Italian artists and architects. As the largest and principal altar of one of Arezzo’s most prestigious churches and the site of Vasari’s burial, it is nothing less than the most personal work of his long and prolific artistic career. Its alienation in the nineteenth century from the church for which it was made and nearly all of the other works with which Vasari intended it to be seen, however, has long obscured its significance.

The last chapter brings the volume full circle as it looks into the ultimate confines of perception, across the limits of death. Contrasting with the Christian sacralization of the last breath, physiological research at the time revealed various stages in death, when vital organs fail one after the other, raising the troubling possibility of sensory remanence running through nervous fibres as the body gradually dies. These specters of sensations were invested by the Romantic imagination. This chapter investigates paradoxical imaginings of sensation after death in Keats’s Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil, Percy Shelley’s ‘The Sensitive-Plant’, and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which registers the dawn of sensation in a creature composed of tissues taken from the charnel-house, learning to feel through dead flesh. Such sensory experiments offer imaginative answers to the paradoxical question: what do the dead see through closed eye, through empty orbits?

Overshadowed by other international journeys, Ginsberg’s six months traveling alone through South America in 1960 have been relatively neglected by biographers and critics. However, recent editions and new research enable a better understanding of the literary and political significance of his geographic and drug trips in the region. The long-delayed publication of his South American Journals in 2019 reveals how prescient Ginsberg was to see the visionary value of ayahuasca (aka yagé), the indigenous psychedelic, set against the policing of reality by a materialistic world. His journals also show the full extent of his spiritual crisis in South America and his difficulties in finding a poetic form to express his experiences. Although The Yage Letters has been neglected by Ginsberg scholars, the complex backstory of the book of South American trips he coauthored with William S. Burroughs reveals a much greater role in its creation.

In this chapter I argue that God’s love and goodness make it impossible for him either to intend the evil of human death or to delegate the authority to take a human life. This concludes my argument for the absolute norm against intending death.

This chapter looks at the poetic herbarium through the concept of vegetal ontology, addressing works by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Christina Rossetti, and especially Emily Dickinson. The epistolary herbaria is a collaborative affair; “a flower in a letter,” like the tendencies of the plants themselves, seeded itself among various writers from across national frontiers. Not only were the form and the content of the messages vegetal but so also was the act of sending, disseminating the herbarium as so many seeds or spores, preceded by lovingly tending to, gathering and preserving flowers. In her work, Dickinson restages the elemental and cosmic clash of viriditas – “greenness,” or the self-refreshing power of finite existence that reaches its apotheosis in plants – and ariditas – “dryness,” or the scorching heat of sin understood in the extra-moral sense of everything that contravenes life and its renewal. Dickinson’s approach is at the same time allegorical and literal, plants providing her with a way of dealing with the inexorability of death. Analogous practices and preferences, like genres and authors, developed across nationalities, geographies, and time periods.

This chapter encompasses Neruda’s poetic production during his latest years, which has been divided into two sections: late and posthumous poems published in books. Neruda’s literary fame was cemented in his previous work, Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada (Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, 1924), Residencia en la tierra (Residence on Earth, 1933, 1935, 1947), Canto general (1950), and Odas elementales (Elemental Odes, 1954–57). In general, critics and general readers have overlooked Neruda’s late body of work, which reflected a post-millennial futurity. He announced this visionary approach in both Aún (Still Another Day, 1969) and Fin de mundo (World’s End, 1969), but the best summary of his take on futurity can be found in his posthumous 2000 (1974).

In 2009, numerous manuscripts, previously thought to be lost, were rediscovered in what was once Florence Price’s summer home. The rediscovery narrative that followed, especially in white mainstream media discourse in the United States, focused more on the rediscovery of Price herself, rather than on the rediscovery of her manuscripts. Not only did this distort Price’s meaning to a modern-day, mainstream audience; it also erased the scholarly and archival efforts of practitioners, which can be dated back to the era of Price’s activity. Black classical communities in the United States kept Price’s musical legacy alive through the twentieth century and into the twenty-first. This chapter therefore asks: How do we listen to Price today? The Price archives, the narratives of community embedded in her musical manuscripts, and the ensuing recovery work emerge as important factors in this new era of Price scholarship.

Explores various Jewish conceptions of an afterlife: immortality of the soul; resurrection; reincarnation; and the legacy concept—that immortality consists in one’s impact on the future. Working through a wide range of reasons for and against each position, the chapter notes the variety that exists in the kinds of reasons advanced. It then discusses whether an afterlife has value and why there is death.

This chapter explores Scotland’s relationship with utopia, arguing that this relationship is complicated by Scotland’s perceived peripheral, and potentially oppositional, identity within the United Kingdom. Twentieth-century Scottish fiction has often been reticent to engage with fully developed utopian paradigms, instead focusing on quotidian experience. However, utopian communities are also positioned as an opportunity to look beyond the nation to examine questions of individual and collective desire. The chapter focuses on three main strands of Scottish utopian fiction from the post-war to the present: the unusual emphasis on death and cyclical return in key utopian texts; utopian novels that explore communal life and homosociality; and queer works that employ storytelling as a utopian act. The texts discussed in this chapter reveal that in Scottish literature utopia is not located in some far-off future but, rather, operates within the continuity created by shared narratives of identity, community, and desire. Examining these themes, the chapter concludes that Scottish utopian fiction is more varied than previous accounts have noted.

Postvention describes the support offered after suicide bereavement to mitigate the risk of suicide in those affected by the loss. In this chapter we describe the international epidemiological evidence about the impact of suicide on relatives, friends, and other close contacts of the deceased. This includes an elevated risk of depression and suicide, and other adverse physical health and social outcomes. We describe the practice of postvention as it applies to recommended responses to suicide in clinical and community settings, and the evidence to support this. Whilst there is a lack of evidence to support the effectiveness of postvention in preventing suicide specifically, there is evidence that it improves the mental health and social outcomes likely to mediate suicide risk. Clinicians who encounter suicide-bereaved individuals should be aware of resources available to people affected by suicide loss, described here, including digital resources in the public domain.