Succession: Fearful Anxiety, Exhilarating Hope Arthur Williamson (bio) Paulina Kewes and Andrew McRae, editors Stuart Succession Literature: Moments and Transformations oxford: oxford university press, 2019 xv + 371 pages; isbn: 9780198778172 Michael Questier Dynastic Politics and the British Reformations, 1558–1630 oxford: oxford university press, 2019 xvii + 499 pages; isbn: 9780198826330 in 1590 anna of denmark was crowned queen (consort) of Scotland. To celebrate the occasion King James asked the preacher, professor, and poet Andrew Melville to compose some suitable verses. Despite short notice, Melville produced the complicated Στεϕανισκιον ad Scotiae Regem, habitum in coronation Reginae (Little garland given to the king of Scotland on the coronation of the queen). In it he specifically declined to say whether the king had been “selected as the best from the people, or born from your ancestors onto the throne, whether by new law, or ancient custom.” But he was emphatic: the legitimate king was bound by law, and, yet more salient, brought the people with him through assent, not compulsion. If monarchy was firmly grounded, so too was civic engagement. Melville went further still. Anna marked a great turning point, literally the “hinge” to the future, not only securing the dynasty but also readying it for the decisive struggle against “the seven citadels and ramparts of Rome.”1 James was thrilled and ordered the Στεϕανισκιον published immediately. [End Page 483] Succession studies have become quite fashionable in recent years, and understandably so, for regime change inherently raises questions of legitimacy, the nature of the polity, the selection process, and—not least—the mission and defining purposes of the dynasty or of the realm it led. We will find this true even for relatively modest successions like Anna’s. Yet the Edinburgh celebration seems to differ strikingly from the focus and preoccupations of modern historiography. Today’s analyses, as varyingly illustrated by the two books under consideration, labor to show that nothing with regard to succession was at all inevitable or in any way automatic. The matter of Elizabeth’s successor was gravely fraught, “dangerous and doubtful” in the language of contemporaries; the prospect of civil war and foreign intervention loomed as very real possibilities. James’s accession was in no way assured, and, with the exception of his son, that of every successor through the coming of the Hanoverians proved problematic if not openly contested. The watchword was deep anxiety rather than high aspiration, insecurity far more than hope. This style of inquiry finds itself anchored in the “revisionist” perspective that emerged as part of a much larger, indeed tectonic cultural shift in reaction against the 1960s. It involved a vast retreat from public culture and civic identities. Anti-Marxist, anti-liberal, and anti-Protestant, all often blanketed under the rubric of Whig teleology, revisionism emphasized tradition, conservatism, and the resilience (and importance) of authority—while discounting ideology, religious doctrine, and vocabularies of social change. Continuity in outlook closely coexisted with contingency in the event. Revisionism emphasized functional comparisons rather than deeper cultural connections or intellectual transformations. Modernity emerged as an inadvertent and problematic phenomenon, while a preoccupation with blood and tradition—dynastic or tribal—frequently fueled authoritarian, irredentist, and nationalist counter-historiographies. More recent qualifications, often very loosely termed “post-revisionism,” failed to overturn revisionist assumptions. ________ To be sure, historical writing within this frame can lead to powerful insight, and the volume edited by Paulina Kewes and Andrew McRae is one such. Each of the sixteen essays in the collection will prove significant, but Richard McCabe’s analysis of 1603 panegyrics and David Colclough’s discussion of accession sermons for James I and his son illustrate the strengths and limitations of revisionist perspectives. McCabe develops at length the deep anxieties felt on both sides of the border at the prospect of the regnal union. The extravagant claims of poets and prose writers on behalf of a [End Page 484] primordial Britain, drawing on Galfridian mythology and tales about the eponymous Brutus of Troy, served to face down “visceral fear in manufactured euphoria” (22). Their task proved formidable: deep unease at a foreign king, the nightmare of a Scottish conquest, and an abiding dislike of Scotsmen rendered the moment fraught and dangerous. Now all...