Dialogues with the Cold: Natural Low Temperatures in the Everyday Life of Rural Residents of Yakutia (Sakha Republic) in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries

Sámi Literature in Norwegian Language Arts Textbooks

REVIEWS AND SHORT NOTES

Reviews and Short Notes

Cunning and Disorderly: Early Nineteenth-Century Witch Trials of Joseph Smith

The literary allusions in act 4 of Long Day’s Journey Into Night have worried producers and commentators alike. Often pared down on stage to cut the play’s running time, they are heard as redundant, unnecessary, even as a substitute on O’Neill’s part for the hard work of writing expressive dialogue. George Steiner deplores the quotations in Long Day’s Journey, suggesting that their brilliance “burns a hole” in the fabric of the play and shows up O’Neill’s deficient writing. In response to Steiner, Laurin Porter has argued persuasively for the economy and effectiveness of these quotations. She goes through all the musical and literary allusions in the late plays, showing how they reinforce character and theme, move the plot, and create counterpoints of feeling, atmosphere, and thought. Indeed, she argues, the allusions are deeply and significantly embedded in the plays.1 In this article I would like to suggest that they serve another purpose as well. The quotations from what James Tyrone, speaking to Edmund, calls “That damned library of yours!” evoke the darkest, most radical thought of the previous century, the late-romantic nineteenth century that the characters in O’Neill’s play, set in 1912, are trying to survive without knowing how.2 The quotations from Baudelaire, Swinburne, Wilde, and Dowson suggest in their pessimism an impasse reached by the end of the romantic century, an impasse of identity. The characters in Long Day’s Journey, who have inherited their identities from the previous century, no longer know who they are. Ah, Wilderness! contains quotations also, from the same or similar nineteenth-century authors, but they are not so troubling because there are fewer of them, they are briefer, and their purpose is clear and less

Immigrant Positioning in Twentieth-Century Mexico: Middle Easterners, Foreign Citizens, and Multiculturalism

Reconstructing the City, Constructing the State: Government in Valparaíso after the Earthquake of 1906

Popularizing, Moralizing, and the Soul of American Science

New Scholarship

“Typically American”

Cunning Distortions: Folk Christianity and Witchcraft Allegations in Early Mormon History

The Coming of the Celts, AD 1860: Celtic Nationalism in Ireland and Wales, Caoimhín De Barra (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2018), 372 pages. Caoimhín De Barra’s The Coming of the Celts is a well-considered examination of the often-ambivalent relationship between the respective promoters of Welsh and Irish language, literature and culture in the later nineteenth and earlier twentieth centuries. De Barra, a member of the History Faculty at Gonzaga University in Spokane, Washington, sees the language movements in Wales and Ireland both as part of the general development of romantic bourgeois nationalism that flourished among smaller, or divided, nationalities in nineteenth-century Europe and also as an often-failed attempt to discover political and cultural commonalities between the two countries, and the other Celtic nations, commonalities that sometimes simply didn’t exist. There were two significant fault lines separating the Welsh and Irish language movements. The first was mutual unintelligibility between speakers of the two major divisions among the six modern Celtic languages, the Goidelic languages (Irish and Scottish Gaelic, descended from a high Medieval form of Irish – two languages that are mutually understandable) and the Brittonic languages (Welsh and Breton, descended from a Celtic language spoken in Wales and West Britain in late antiquity – languages that are unintelligible both to speakers of the Goidelic languages and to speakers of the two major Brittonic tongues). Two other Celtic languages, Cornish (a Brittonic language) and Manx (a Goidelic language), died out, primarily in the eighteenth century (with remnants of Manx surviving until a few generations ago), but these languages recently have been revived as sometimes precocious hobby-languages by scholars and enthusiasts, through the examination of historic texts. While older ‘Irish’ and ‘Welsh’ thus are the primary historic progenitors of their respective modern language groups, these two languages developed mostly in isolation from one another and thus proved poor vehicles for a unified ‘Celtic’ consciousness and collective cultural/political programmes. Such programmes preoccupied a relatively small number of Pan-Celtic supporters in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, but their goals usually were hazy and unrealisable – the product of collective undefined goodwill as much as anything. Also, five of the six modern Celtic nations had Studies • volume 108 • number 431 360 Autumn 2019: Book Reviews Studies_layout_AUTUMN-2019.indd 128 21/08/2019 09:14 English as a well-established first language by the period in question, which tended to isolate the Bretons, who often were among the more enthusiastic of the Pan-Celts. Finally, while the later Gaelic League in Ireland had a political and cultural programme that was decidedly Modernist and forwardlooking , attempting to update the Irish language in contemporary settings, the Scottish, Welsh and Breton Pan-Celts too often (to the Irish, at least) seemed preoccupied with a ‘Golden’ past and too concerned with externals like Druidical ceremonies and national costumes. A second point of division, one repeatedly alluded to by De Barra but never considered in sufficient depth, was religious. Welsh speakers during the time in question were largely evangelical Calvinistic Methodist dissenters, extremely suspicious of Roman Catholicism, while members of the Irish language movement were mostly (at least cultural) Catholics. This religious division led to suspicion and a certain cultural revulsion between the two groups, more often coming from the Welsh than the Irish side of things, which sometimes proved a difficulty in efforts at mutual programmatic development. Both ‘primordial’ languages, however, survived periods of significant religious change in the twentieth century, with the Welsh national conversion from Protestant evangelicalism to the increasingly secular socialism of the Labour Party; and the general Irish detachment from Catholicism after the clerical sexual-abuse crisis of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. The development of the nationalist impulse in each of the four major Celtic nations during the last half of the nineteenthcentury went hand-in-hand with a movement toward pan-Celtic appreciation, if not unity, perhaps inspired by the example of Italian and German unification. This impulse, while recurring and popular on the surface, ultimately was a failure. While there might have been distant linguistic connections between the two primary Celtic-language groups somewhere on the continent...

Journal Article Christianity in a Revolutionary Age: A History of Christianity in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. Volume II, the Nineteenth Century in Europe: The Protestant and Eastern Churches. By Kenneth Scott Latourette. (New York: Harper and Brothers. 1959. Pp. viii 532. $7.00.) Get access Christianity in a Revolutionary Age: A History of Christianity in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. Volume II, the Nineteenth Century in Europe: The Protestant and Eastern Churches. By Latourette Kenneth Scott. (New York: Harper and Brothers. 1959. Pp. viii 532. $7.00.) Reinhold Niebuhr Reinhold Niebuhr Union Theological Seminary Search for other works by this author on: Oxford Academic Google Scholar The American Historical Review, Volume 66, Issue 1, October 1960, Pages 126–127, https://doi.org/10.1086/ahr/66.1.126 Published: 01 October 1960

Notes on Contributors

Most histories written for scientists are aimed at identifying a founder, usually a patriarchal figure from whom all knowledge originates. While this may serve some practitioners of science to unify a field, it is in the most part a political exercise. Twenty-first century biogeography has multiple origins, most of which are in the twentieth century. Few, if any methodologies, theories and implementations of twenty-first century biogeography go back to the nineteenth century, let alone the eighteenth. What is more, twenty-first century biogeography has many different practitioners that hail from different backgrounds, very much like the practitioners in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The calls for unity in biogeography in twenty-first century are remarkably similar to those in the late nineteenth century. Take any given number of practitioners from different backgrounds (e.g., taxonomy, geography) and allow them to pursue questions about organismal distribution, you will invariably end up with a multidisciplinary field regardless in which century you practise. The aim of this book is to show that eighteenth and nineteenth century plant and animal geography is a multidisciplinary profession and in as much conflict as twentieth and twenty-first century biogeography. The problems being encountered in biogeography today (e.g., calls for unification) are the same as those in the past. Origins of Biogeography is a history for twenty-first century biogeographers that detail the confusion of geographical and taxonomic laws (Chap. 2), the conflict between practitioners (Chap. 3), the divergence of classifications (Chap. 4), and the way we implement our plant and animal geographies (Chaps. 5 and 6) in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. By the end of the nineteenth century the basic divisions in twentieth century biogeography are already apparent. The twentieth century has its own unique history, which this book will not cover. Few biogeographers see twentieth century origins in their field.