This Common Knowledge guest column is a partly comical, partly biographical speculation on how Anthony Woodville, brother-in-law of King Edward IV, passed the time while being held under guard at the “Newe Inn” Norwich, from August 20 to 25, 1469.

This guest column consists of a tongue-in-cheek counterfactual history of England from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries. Its highlight is the fifty-year reign of the saintly King Richard III, who dies a martyr in New York at the hands of the Iroquois in 1536 and is promptly canonized. In this version of events, England evades the Reformation and the wars of religion and enters modernity as a prosperous nation of small farmers who have no interest in enclosures and engrossing, (...) let alone in capitalism and industrialization. (shrink)

In the context of an issue of Common Knowledge dedicated to instances of experimental scholarship and to discussion of them, this contribution by a social historian of medieval England sets out to demonstrate that an empirical alternative to tendentious and interpretive historiography, despite all claims to the contrary, is possible and valuable. In this monograph-length article, the texts of selected documents in the Adair Family Collection are set forth, often verbatim, and, though minutely contextualized, are subjected to only the lightest (...) analysis. Scant thematic cues organize this in-depth exploration of the wills, deeds of purchase, quitclaims, rentals, indentures, receipts, charitable bequests, and other legal and commercial transactions of John Tasburgh I, his wife Margery, John Tasburgh II, his wife Olive, and their families, dependents, assigns, and parishes. Peripheral attention is paid to the better-known John Hopton and to the family of John Paston I, II, and III. Richmond's own readings of texts and circumstances appear largely in the form of questions, as if he were writing marginalia for his own later use while reading. Thus, the historian does all the archival work necessary for readers to arrive at their own hypotheses about how rurality related to urbanity in fifteenth-century Suffolk and, perhaps, also about the meaning of the word urbane. (shrink)

This essay introduces a cluster of articles titled “Devalued Currency: An Elegiac Symposium on Paradigm Shifts.” Eagleton's piece addresses, from a perspective indebted to Walter Benjamin, the notion of Thomas Kuhn that “shifts” in the controlling paradigms of disciplines and practices are entirely transformative not only of their futures but also of their pasts. Benjamin argued that a work of art is a set of potentials that may or may not be realized in the vicissitudes of its afterlife. The true (...) significance of works might be said, therefore, to emerge only after some as-yet-unexpected event or upheaval makes their significance apparent. In this sense, we might argue that historical events make full sense only in the light of “judgment day”; until then, history remains an incoherent chronicle. But the totality that will one day be revealed cannot be anticipated. The past is open-ended because the present is, and meanwhile, the meaning of history is in our hands to change. Since we have that power, Eagleton suggests that we recycle figures of the past as characters in a comedy rather than tragedy. Still, it is never possible to say which figures of the past and which works are ultimately important and which are not, because we cannot say which mutations will result in major developments to come. No work or person is important or peripheral in itself or himself; it is the critic and historian who render them so. (shrink)

In the place of an introduction to part 5 of the Common Knowledge symposium on forms of quietism, the journal's editor and one of its longtime columnists discuss, in dialogue format, the case of Thomas More. Could he have evaded martyrdom at the hands of Henry VIII and Thomas Cromwell? One discussant argues that More could not have done so without contemptibly abandoning his principles and surrendering fully to despotism. The other discussant disagrees, suggesting that More had to abandon some (...) of his principles one way or the other—in resisting despotism, however quietly, More did serious harm to his wife and daughter, to the European humanist movement, and to the cause of English Catholics. (shrink)

To commemorate the five hundreth anniversary of the accession of Henry VIII to the English throne, this guest column reviews the inventories made, upon his death, of the king's possessions at Hampton Court, the Tower, and other locations. Focusing on extensive equipment for royal-games playing, especially for “tennys,” this paper is essentially a list of possessions that evidence the blend of frivolity and cruelty characteristic of Henry's self-indulgent reign.

This contribution to the final installment of the Common Knowledge symposium on contextualism is a reply to another contribution, Peter Burke's “Alternative Modes of Thought.” Or rather, this essay responds to the historians and social scientists whom Burke cites as arguing that only some ways of thinking are possible in any given place and time. Richmond's response is that a human context in which there is but one mode of thought in evidence, and no evident ambivalence regarding it, is a (...) context in which great numbers have died, violently and recently. His essay takes the form of a report on his eleven research visits since 1985 to the death camp at Auschwitz. In Nazi-occupied Europe, he concludes, “ ‘alternative modes of thought’ were by no means impossible. Rather, people who thought differently from the regime were gathered to Auschwitz and other such camps, then murdered and incinerated. The Nazi ‘mental framework,’ if that is what it was, had to be imposed, and the millions incapable of participating in it had to die rapidly.... The problem for us, in the Nazis’ wake, is that the their ‘mode of thought’ is so alien that we have yet to find a context that enables us to understand it.... The need, then, is not for the context that intellectual, cultural, and social historians might provide, but for the aid of phenomenologists, because what we are hoping to understand is—in the words of Thomas Nagel's essay ‘What Is It Like to Be a Bat?’—a ‘fundamentally alien form of life.’ ”. (shrink)

In an issue of Common Knowledge given over to experiments in scholarly form and to the discussion of them, this piece is one of three on the genre of microhistory. The other two argue the merits and demerits of the genre, while this piece seeks to exemplify both its virtues and its risks. To show how microhistory offers intense deliberation on a narrowly defined topic, yet also a kind of hastiness — an impatience with demands for broader scope — Colin (...) Richmond examines one limited facet of the relationship between two Americans resident in England at the turn of the last century: the novelist Henry James and the painter Edwin Austin Abbey. Detailed evidence is mustered to document James's love of fresh hens' eggs and of the undignified lengths he would go to obtain them through the agency of Abbey and his wife. This short piece is written as if a parable, and while its moral goes unstated, the reader's attention is drawn to the unsettled question of whether James exerted maximal effort for minimal results, or whether he knew something about the value of freshness undreamed of by those more patient and dignified in pursuing their desires. (shrink)

On the basis of reports that Jan van Eyck visited England, this essay speculates freely on what the diplomat and painter actually did in and around London for three weeks in 1428. The essay claims, for example, that van Eyck went to the village of Foots Cray to buy watercresses to use as models when painting greenery on the Ghent Altarpiece of the Mystic Lamb. The recently erected gateway to the palace at Greenwich is said likewise to be the model (...) for a towered gateway depicted on the altarpiece. After providing local detail about relevant parts of England in 1428, the essay closes with speculation about the origin of a harp, of a purportedly Welsh variety, appearing on the altarpiece in the hands of an angel. The author argues that it was the instrument of an itinerant Breton musician whom van Eyck had heard in recital at the Poor Clares convent of the Holy Trinity at the Minories in Aldgate. The harpist subsequently murdered his Stepney landlady and was himself killed by enraged local housewives. Van Eyck is said to have purchased the man's harp when his worldly goods were posthumously sold. (shrink)

This essay takes the Morte Darthur of Sir Thomas Malory as a test case for the applicability of Thomas Kuhn's notion of “paradigm shifts” to the history of culture. While Kuhn apparently found inspiration in the disciplines of cultural and art history for his idea that scientific progress is noncumulative, the arts and humanities (unlike the sciences) must deal with the ideas of (and the evidence for) “Renaissance” and “renascence,” “resistance” and “reaction.” A poet such as Malory may achieve a (...) permanent place in literary history and on required-reading lists by resisting a shift in paradigm, whereas a scientist who resists will effectively disappear. Thus, the Morte Darthur set the terms for modern literature in English by holding fast to those of the Middle Ages. This essay argues that Malory was “modern” in that the Morte Darthur would not have been written except for the events in England and France of 1454–85 but that what was most modern about him was his resistance to concomitant changes in English society. (shrink)

The author here extends a dialogue with Jeffrey M. Perl, published in the Spring 2010 issue of Common Knowledge, under the title “`Decorate the Dungeon.'” That dialogue concerns whether Thomas More could have avoided martyrdom though he acted with heroic quietism during the Henrician Reformation. Dubious of this premise during the previous exchange, the author here examines the lives of three northern English quietists of More's time—Christopher Urswick (c. 1448–1552), Cuthbert Tunstall (1474–1559), and John Redman (1499–1551)—who never quite risked martyrdom (...) but never abandoned their own principles either. This essay concludes that Tunstall was the most heroic of the three. As a bishop (for well over thirty years), he could have burned heretics in the 1530s and 1550s but he sent no one to death—a record perhaps better than that of Thomas More, who saw sedition in some of those brought before him as heretics when he was chancellor. A record so free of violent commitment as Tunstall's was extraordinary in his time, as in ours, and this article gives it due recognition. (shrink)

This novel's plot, if one may speak of a plot, appears to have been hatched, if one may speak of something not an egg being hatched, at Oxford. The plotters, who have unlikely names even for plotters, met in Wellington Square, a place I know well. I once drank whiskey in the afternoon there with Jane Minto, as likely a character as any in a city that breeds characters (as any follower of Inspector Morse will know). The plotters, however, drank (...) tea, from a tin teapot, while wearing wellingtons. Making something up is, in general, not that hard; making something up about Kurt Schwitters is, because his life itself was so abundant a collage. I once met a woman in front of one of his portraits: “That's me,” she said, “but I never liked it; nor did my husband; we put it under the bed.” She could have appeared in this novel but does not. Plenty of others do—relations and friends of the inventor of Merz.Merz was a fragment, a piece of Humpty Dumpty who fell off the wall in 1914 and could not be put together again. Not for want of trying by the likes of El Lissitzky, Vladimir Tatlin, Ivan Puni, and Schwitters, especially the last, collecting the Dumpty pieces into a Merzbau that was no more than an assemblage—not a Gesamtkunstwerk and not a cathedral, but what in England was once called a PreFab, a hopeful gesture in an age of helplessness. Schwitters was a collector of the discarded, of the disregarded, of the unregarded, and out of the debris he made beauty. He made poetry (if poetry it may be called) out of sounds, noises sounding in the ear like those made by the guns that had daily blown men, women, and horses to pieces.Clearly, Draesner, the author of this novel, has been totally beSchwittered. I myself became so at Oxford in 1959 and have never wavered in my beSchwitterment, albeit adding over the years beBeuysment, beFluxusment, and beKieferment to my inventory. Thus beSchwittered, I have been a pilgrim to Cylinders, though not finding it; to the grave at Ambleside, with no body in it; to Wordsworth's cottage, where I left my book of Kurt's poems; and to Hannover, to be photographed on Schwitters Square. Kurt's Hannover might have been Hanover (with a single n) had not Bismarck stolen it; Bomber Harris might, in that case, have thought twice about bombing it; and we might not have been asking of this Scheinkünstlerroman how German is it, but instead telling ourselves just how English it is. (shrink)

In old age, I seldom keep the books I read, but The Books of Jacob has been shelved next to Sabbatai Sevi: The Mystical Messiah; my copy of the latter bears an inscription on its flyleaf, “Gift of Jacob Taubes to Tantur, 1978,” which in some way (possibly mystical) authenticates bringing the two books together. It seems I have been waiting for the conjunction since first reading Gerhom Scholem on the Frankists, in his Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, in the (...) carriage of a train waiting to depart from New Street Station, Birmingham, sometime in the mid-1980s. It was a moment of revelation; reading Tokarczuk has been too.A major literary achievement—no question: published in Polish in 2014, Tokarczuk's narrative meditation on the Frankists is a model of what may be done by integrating imagination with documentation. This is how what is loosely termed historical fiction should be written. Terrific when evoking the tastes and smells of Podolia or Smyrna, Tokarczuk is no less profound when expressing the aspirations and hesitations of a Jewish people trapped between two other religions, Islam and Christianity. Like Scholem before her, but in her own, entirely different manner, she brings to center stage movements of the mind that had previously been relegated to the wings. What was once regarded contemptuously as too “other”—other, that is, to post-Enlightenment descriptions of the world, past and present—has been shown by Scholem and now Tokarczuk to be crucial to an understanding of the modern world's genesis. What Scholem did for Sabbatai Sevi, Tokarczuk has done for Jacob Frank—and for his followers as well: those beyond-the-pale Jews who saw in him a savior who was no less anti-messianic than he was the messiah. (shrink)