Reviewed by: Animals and Their Children in Victorian Culture ed. by Brenda Ayres and Sarah E. Maier Alicia Carroll (bio) Animals and Their Children in Victorian Culture, edited by Brenda Ayres and Sarah E. Maier; pp. xiii + 264. London and New York: Routledge, 2019, $160.00, $44.05 ebook. Brenda Ayres and Sarah E. Maier's collection, Animals and Their Children in Victorian Culture, aims to reverse the problem of human exceptionalism that underplays the subjectivity and agency of animals. In many cases, the collection succeeds admirably. It is at its best when exploring the ontological intimacies between animals and children, noting the power of shared qualities—smallness, muteness, or perceived passivity—to erode the animal/human binary; the book also excels at emphasizing culture, widely defined, over canonical literature in animal studies. Readers will find this topic a welcome new focus in the field with a corresponding expansion of the canon of animal studies. From the beginning, authors in the collection note the paradoxes of the animal-child relationship in foundational Victorian children's texts. Ayres writes that the tenor of nursery rhymes changed in the 1830s as animals began to instruct children in kindness as well as the carnivore's discourse in which "birds and mice were on purpose for eating" (23). Keridiana Chez's chapter, "Wanted Dead or Alive: Rabbits in Victorian Children's Literature," notes likewise that rabbits are the "sweetest pets as well as the sweetest flesh" in Victorian children's literature. She substantiates the claim that Victorian children's literature legitimizes "the most glaring discursive contradictions in our treatment of nonhuman Others" (31). In "Unruly Females on the Farm: Domestic Animal Mothers and the Dismantling of the Species Hierarchy in Nineteenth-Century Literature for Children," Stacy Hoult-Saros shows that children and farm animals are equated in being unruly and in need of adult authority. Such texts disturb hierarchical thought, prefiguring the posthuman. In "A Brotherhood of Wolves: Loyalty in Yiddish and Anglo-Jewish Folktales," Lindsay Katzir and Brandon Katzir argue that the wolf in Victorian Anglo-Jewish tales, often represented as a pack animal defending its communal life, responds to British stereotypes of Jewish people as lone wolves. Emphasizing cohesion, the wolf in these tales resists the threat of assimilation. This essay introduced welcome new texts to this Victorianist, along with questions of how alternative cultural animal symbolism might prompt ethical thought about advocacy for wolves and their habitat now. Animal advocacy is at the forefront of Alisa Clapp-Itnyre's contribution. Her "Advocating for the Least of These: Empowering Children and Animals in The Band of Mercy Advocate" expands our knowledge of Victorian periodical literature and children's advocacy for animals in a fascinating study of how the journal of the Band of Mercy, The Advocate (1879–83), renegotiated associations between animals and human children through their shared bodily vulnerability, muteness, and passivity. Despite the risks of this alliance, children sang, pledged, recited, and petitioned for animals. Through their public work, both animal and human bodies came to matter. Less obscure works by Lewis Carroll, George Eliot, and the Brontës, as well as Thomas Hughes's Tom Brown's Schooldays (1857), also appear here. Constance Fulmer demonstrates that Eliot's novels satirize Victorian culture that treats children like animals and animals like children. Her survey will be valuable to those interested in animals in Eliot. Maier, in "Neither Brutes nor Beasts: Animals, Children, and Young Persons and/in the Brontës," shows that children abuse animals as they themselves have been abused. Maier also notices slippages between the ontological categories of animal and human [End Page 318] when adults (violently) refuse kindness to children as well as to animals. She also makes the important point that the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (1824) was formed some sixty years before the formation of the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children (1884). Citing Donna Haraway, Maier notes that the relationships between both associations offer "not irrational denials of human weakness," but instead "clear-sighted recognition of the connection across the discredited breach of nature and culture" (qtd. in Maier 199). Her work, like Hoult-Saros's...
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