This chapter explores developments in hemispheric and transamerican studies by grounding discussions of colonialism and incommensurability in narrations of place-names. It moves from the Pacific to the Midwest, using Commodore David Porter’s Journal of a Cruise Made to the Pacific Ocean, from the War of 1812, as a case study. Porter is of note not only because he was an important source for Herman Melville’s Pacific writings but also because his military travel writings sought to make the Marquesas part of the US political and popular imaginary. In renaming-to-claim the islands, Porter worked to undermine Indigenous epistemologies and histories. The chapter then turns to the Midwest, examining the Latin American place-names across the region – names that offer a nineteenth-century prehistory to accounts of widespread Midwestern Latinx presence. Surprisingly, stories of Porter’s battle off the coast of Chile in Journal of a Cruise have fed an imperialist “Latin American mapping” of Indiana through the naming of the city of Valparaiso, in Porter County. Using stories of place naming from the Indigenous Pacific and Latinx Midwest, the chapter highlights the vital necessity of hemispheric and transamerican literary studies for the nineteenth century.

How do Indigenous studies methodologies and concepts bear on nineteenth-century literary studies? How does Indigenous studies reconfigure accepted signposts of the field of nineteenth-century studies, from its temporal ending and beginning points, to scholarly objects of study? As much as these questions might seem to make the familiar scholarly move of asking what happens when we bring two fields together, we argue that Native American and Indigenous Studies (NAIS) poses unique questions and directions to nineteenth-century studies. At the same time, we argue that engagement with Indigenous studies must go beyond simply reading works that feature or are written by Indigenous peoples to more substantively engaging with NAIS as a methodological orientation and field. We posit that NAIS contains methodologies for understanding not just Native American literatures but topics that have long been mainstays of nineteenth-century American literary studies, including dispossession, race, citizenship, language ideologies, and gender.

While recent scholarship in the Latinx nineteenth century has emphasized the print culture processes informing Spanish-language textual production, the field has also been energized by a focus on prominent authors. This article traces the tension between emphasizing a representative subject (author) versus the way print culture provides insight into lived experiences in sociopolitical contexts. The piece turns to debates over the novel Jicotencal and the attraction of Maria Amparo Ruiz de Burton and José Marti as representative figures to trace scholarly developments over the last two decades. Looking toward future directions, the chapter envisions ongoing attention to archival holdings and intersections with critical projects such as queer and Indigenous studies. The last section emphasizes the importance of translation for research in the Latinx nineteenth century.

This essay uses concepts drawn from the field of New Materialism, which posits that material objects possess forms of agency that shape human culture rather than just being passively acted upon, to move the history of the book beyond common assumptions that “the book” is a physically coherent and obviously identifiable entity. Looking closely at how the transportation infrastructure of the nineteenth-century print market determined and complicated American understandings of what a book was, it uses the legal and aesthetic debates triggered by evolving distinctions between bound and unbound texts to explore the historically malleable nature of “the book.” Concentrating particularly on the US postal system, which constantly struggled to define and regulate the printed matter passing through it during the nineteenth century as publishers sought to access cheaper circulation rates by presenting book-like material in periodical formats, this study of quasi-books ranges from Washington Irving’s Sketch Book (1819–1820) through the “mammoth weeklies” of the 1840s to the “Library” series of the 1870s.

In the last ten years, as nineteenth-century Americanists have turned their attention to disability as an analytical category for their own field, they have used and developed new tools and modes of analysis to map a much more complex disability landscape. In this chapter, I turn to Harriet Wilson’s Our Nig (1859) to ask what a fictionalized autobiography written from the experience of a disabled Black woman can show us about the complexity and limitations of our critical understandings of disability in the period. Whereas we have been trained to look for disability in nineteenth-century American literature as represented flatly and relegated to the margins, Wilson keeps disability at the center of her narrative. Such a reading employs the method of historical cripistemology – that is, it begins from the experiences and knowledge of disabled people in the past – here, Harriet Wilson’s – to reframe our understanding of literature and culture. In Our Nig, Wilson uses her own experience to break with familiar Black and white forms for narrating disability in the antebellum period. Taking up Our Nig from this perspective demonstrates how careful attention to disability in nineteenth-century American literature and culture – particularly literature written by disabled people – can help us recover the broader scope and greater variety of disability representation in the period, as well as its import for helping us reenvision how we read literature in the period more broadly.

This chapter surveys queer theoretical investigations of nineteenth-century American literature while turning an eye to its future potential. Since the 1990s, the emergence of queer studies shifted focus away from the identitarian scope of lesbian and gay studies to one that engages queer acts, desires, objects, and temporality, to name a few. Queer offers a way out of that Foucaultian maxim, by which in the late nineteenth century the “homosexual became a species.” No longer needing to “know” if one was gay, the rest of the nineteenth century became ripe for a capacious engagement with bodies, affects, and desires. Despite this prominence in queer studies, trans studies is largely absent from early American literary studies. I argue that scholarly pushback on nineteenth-century sexology and its problematic theory of “inverts” has all but left the actual embodiments of those who thwarted gender to the wayside. Neither has the field confronted how nonwhite, brown, and Black people were marked via inversion, such as female hypermasculinity and male effeminacy. If queer studies revisited nineteenth-century literary texts with new vigor, this paper proposes the same through a trans studies reading of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “The Minister’s Black Veil,” Archibald Clavering Gunter’s A Florida Enchantment, and Charlotte Perkins Gillman’s Herland.

This essay examines how nineteenth-century American literature paved the way for the modern exposure of private life in such disparate venues as the gossip column, social media, and reality television. In particular, this essay examines the sketch form, a popular nineteenth-century prose genre that has often been characterized as a minor form in comparison to the novel. In examining the history of the sketch form, this essay shows how the sketch conveyed reservations about the interiority and exposures central to the novel form. As practiced by Washington Irving, the earliest popularizer of this genre, the sketch advocated respectful discretion, the avoidance of private matters, and social stasis, the latter of which positioned the sketch in opposition to the social mobility characteristic of the novel. Irving presented the sketch as the genre of literary discretion, but its latter practitioner, Nathaniel Parker Willis, used the sketch to divulge confidences and violate social decorum. Willis adapted the sketch to become a precursor of the gossip column and to mirror the novel form in exposing private life.

This chapter provides an introduction to the interdisciplinary formation of postsecular studies and briefly outlines its influence in literary studies broadly as well nineteenth-century literary studies specifically. Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women then provides a case study for the demonstration of a postsecular reading attending to the production of secularity around the novel’s bifurcated but intertwined concern with playfulness and morality.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper work has helped reshape Civil War literary studies and illustrates the field’s larger preoccupations. This chapter centers on “Bury Me in a Free Land,” a poem that demonstrates the craft of a writer uniquely adept at using and subverting expectations in a literature that was highly conventional, thus illustrating for contemporary readers both the patterns and their breach. Harper’s poem speaks to the core preoccupations that scholars have been tracing as they identify an ever-broadening archive of Civil War literature, namely the importance of slavery and abolition, the role of death and suffering in the context of spirituality and sentimentality, the shifting understandings of race and gender, and the exploration of how the conflict would be remembered. Poetry was the period’s predominant genre, and this example points to current scholarly interest in works that are ephemeral, conventional, and written to appeal to a broad popular audience. Instead of asking what great works of literature writers in general and combatants in particular produced, as previous scholars had done, recent inquiries have considered a greater diversity of writers and taken an expansive approach to this large question: What is Civil War literature, and what cultural, social, and political contributions did it make?

The materialist turn in contemporary literary theory – comprising of multiple discourses such as new materialism, posthumanism, ecocriticism, speculative realism, affect theory, and others – has been deeply influential in the field of nineteenth-century American literature. However, one key tension within these materialist theories is the question of its politics: how does a turn to materialism, which privileges the actual physical matter of bodies and things over the ideological and linguistic categories of ideas, advance any political or ethical imperatives? Is a world of matter a world without human meaning? This chapter outlines both optimistic and pessimistic perspectives on this question in recent nineteenth-century American literary study. It then seeks to redraw the political impasse between them as one of scale. To that end, I examine two mid-century texts – the anonymously authored “The Ultra-Moral Reformer” (1842) and Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Sphinx” (1846) – as depictions of the challenges (and opportunities) of scalar distortion. These texts suggest that the political and ethical impasse within materialism can be described within materialist terms itself, and that doing so offers a way of understanding the value judgments inherent in materialist methodological commitments as scale dependent.

This chapter examines the emergence of Reconstruction literature as a field of study within nineteenth-century American literature. What can we learn from the appearance of Reconstruction literature as an area of research now, given the troubled landscape of our own twenty-first century? I suggest an answer by focusing on the public political function that this body of writing represented: Reconstruction literature constituted the playing field for fierce debates surrounding Black citizenship and enfranchisement, federal government oversight, and Confederate punishment. Case in point is Albion W. Tourgée’s novel A Fool’s Errand (1879), which, when it appeared in 1879, was hailed as the “Uncle Tom’s Cabin of Reconstruction.” Deploying Tourgée as a representative Reconstruction writer, I ask what his novel’s varied reception by diverse Americans can teach us about the significance that fictional works held for postbellum policy debates, and what this state of affairs illuminates about the place of Reconstruction literature in the twenty-first century, particularly given the disappearance of nineteenth-century American literature as a dedicated hiring field in the academy today. Ultimately, I argue that to realize the promise of Reconstruction literature requires time and resources, and a reinvigoration of the role of the university in democratic society.

From the three-fifths clause and the Mason-Dixon Line to the doctrines of mixed character and separate-but-equal, the legal apparatus of slavery and anti-Black racism in the United States is infamous for its coldly formalist logic. Indeed, the formalism of the first civil rights movement has been obscured by a tendency to ascribe this approach exclusively to its political opponents. This chapter draws on recent reassessments of form in legal and literary studies to illuminate the Black formalist tradition of the long nineteenth century. In particular, I examine how authors (David Walker, Frederick Douglass, and Charles Chesnutt) and litigants (Harriet and Dred Scott) wielded the ancient legal-cultural form of the person to detach certain classes of person (slave, freeman, sailor, citizen, wife, mother, daughter) from racialized human groups (“colored,” white). By contrast, I demonstrate, white supremacists such as Thomas Jefferson and Chief Justice Roger B. Taney sought to naturalize, humanize, and racialize the persons known as “slave” and “citizen.” As the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments attest, early civil rights activists transformed legal personhood in the United States by insisting on the abolition of one class of person (slave) and the reconstitution of another (citizen).

This essay draws upon recent developments in histories of finance and Black studies to argue for an expanded consideration of late nineteenth-century speculative fiction. In recent decades, speculation has emerged as a foundational methodology, critical framework, and literary genre in African American literary studies and Black studies. Yet, within this body of scholarship, speculative fiction is most often associated with anti-realist modes that imagine alternate futures while speculative reading and research methods double as a critique of our political and disciplinary limits. Through a close reading of Charles Chesnutt’s 1901 novel The Marrow of Tradition, this essay considers how speculation’s late nineteenth-century instruments and logics determine the novel’s political horizons and narrative structure. By attending to the financial workings of late nineteenth-century novels that might seem to strain against the bounds of either genre fiction or speculative research methods, this essay argues that we can begin to see how a work like Chesnutt’s interrogates a particularly postbellum outlook on the future, one in which the terms of financial speculation can only imagine a future that is an intensification of the past.