My sixth chapter argues that if the promise is “a faculty for mastering the future as if it were the present,” as Paul Ricoeur puts it, then to remove the question of obligation from the act of promising, as James repeatedly does, transforms it into something closer to prophecy. This form of speech is at the heart of his late story “The Beast in the Jungle.” John Marcher’s belief in his own fate is a prophecy voiced by the very person it concerns. The result is a kind of rewriting of Oedipus. James’s hero, however, is not only fully responsible for the harm he does, he is blind from the very beginning.

This second edition of The Cambridge Companion to F. Scott Fitzgerald offers both new and familiar readers an authoritative guide to the full scope of Fitzgerald’s literary legacy. Gathering the critical insights of leading Fitzgerald specialists, it includes newly commissioned essays on The Beautiful and Damned, The Great Gatsby, Tender Is the Night, Zelda Fitzgerald, Fitzgerald’s judgment of his peers, and Fitzgerald’s screenwriting and Hollywood years, alongside updated and revised versions of four of the best essays from the first edition on such topics as youth, maturity, and sexuality; the short stories and autobiographical essays; and Americans in Europe. It also includes an essay on Fitzgerald’s critical and cultural reputation in the first decades of the twenty-first century and an up-to-date bibliography of the best Fitzgerald scholarship and criticism for further reading.

This essay probes two questions about popular sovereignty’s status as a philosophical and governing creed in early America. How did an unprecedented collective ‘people’ – a people of citizens who actively participated in governing and who constituted an abstract legitimating power – get fashioned notwithstanding the remarkable national, cultural, religious, and racial heterogeneity of Britain’s North American colonies and the early United States? Why did this remarkable achievement not last, culminating in rivers of blood? I argue that the constellation of ideas and institutions that had fashioned America’s civic people out of raw materials provided by Hobbes, Locke, and Madison was brought to crisis by how President Andrew Jackson and Vice President John C. Calhoun elaborated extensions to the scope of popular sovereignty in the name of democracy – Jackson regarding the movement of free white people westward; Calhoun concerning slavery and its expansion.

My fifth chapter analyses a very different kind of vow: what philosophers refer to as a wicked promise – a pledge to do harm. I argue that the self-defeating logic of such promises explains the peculiar form of James’s last completed novel, The Golden Bowl. The world the wicked promise conjures into being is described by one character as “Evil – with a very big E,"a world in which keeping one’s word becomes almost inconceivable. This explains why the novel ends with another promise altogether– that made by the Prince, who waits to see what world Maggie has prepared for him. The fact that this promise comes due beyond the end of the text suggests the limits of a promise to which no obligation attaches.

The danger of viewing morality as provisional rather than permanent is explored in my fourth chapter, on The Wings of the Dove. I read the various promises in the novel as challenging rather than confirming J. L. Austin’s theory of the speech act. The promise is Austin’s most celebrated example of a statement that performs an action rather than offering a description. In The Wings of the Dove, however, description is itself an action, a means of shaping the world rather than merely reporting on it. As a result, the distinctive status of the promise dissolves, producing in James’s antihero Merton Densher a damaging crisis of faith.

F. Scott Fitzgerald will be remembered primarily for his novels and stories, but during his twenty years as a professional writer, he also produced an important and revealing body of work in the form of articles, essays, and correspondence. The very best of these – the autobiographical pieces written in the 1930s – command the lyrical magic and emotional power of his most lasting fiction. And even at their least meritorious, in the advertisements for himself that Fitzgerald composed as a beginning author, these articles reveal a great deal about the way he wanted to present himself to his readers. Read chronologically, they trace the rise and fall of his career from the publication of This Side of Paradise in March 1920 to his final years in Hollywood. In accepting This Side of Paradise for publication, Editor Maxwell Perkins at Scribner asked Fitzgerald for a photograph and some publicity material. “You have been in the advertising game long enough to know the sort of thing,” Perkins added (Dear Scott/Dear Max, 21). In fact, Fitzgerald had worked only four months for the Barron Collier agency in New York, from March to July 1919, but he did understand how promotion could help sell books and was eager to cooperate in the enterprise. In a letter presented at the American Booksellers' Convention and included on a leaf added to several hundred copies of the novel, he began to establish a public personality designed at once to shock and attract his audience.

This chapter takes up what Harold Laski has called the most real problem in modern politics, namely, the theoretical defense of the proposition that the people should rule. It returns to the first sustained philosophical engagement with this problem, in Platos Republic, and argues that the Republic remains a vital resource for thinking through the problem of the legitimacy of popular rule. The chapter focuses on the status of knowledge – its presence and absence – with regard both to the evaluation and the execution of political rule. It maintains that the Republic, far from being the epistocratic manifesto it is often taken to be – by both the defenders and critics of the view that not the people but the knowledgeable should rule – in fact expresses profound skepticism about any attempt to claim the right to rule on the basis of superior knowledge about the political good. The chapter then explores how the Republic, so understood, may inform our thinking about the theoretical legitimacy and practical implementation of the principle of popular sovereignty.

Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald was every 5′3 ½″ a lady, but she outdrank men from Montgomery to Manhattan to Marseilles. Her short stories were so good that, sometimes, they appeared under her husband Scott's name. She was a gifted painter whose work was mostly bought out of pity, lost forever because it was unsigned and often given away, and burned by a protective, possibly jealous sister. She was a gifted dancer who began in earnest too late and never got a real chance. She was an early feminist heroine. She has inspired classic fantasy-action video games, lines of clothing, agenda-driven biographies, and novels from the beautiful to the damnable. She is catnip to movies and television series and is the current subject of two major biopics, starring Jennifer Lawrence and Scarlett Johansson. The legends of Zelda go on and on, from shortly after her birth in 1900 to the present day, and surely beyond. Yet the truths of Zelda, as we can find them, are much finer and more meaningful than all the legends they still beget. It is time to realize how much they can round out, and also increase, the legend.

In an all-too-brief professional career of approximately twenty years, Fitzgerald wrote 178 short stories, most of them for sale to commercial magazines of the 1920s and 1930s. Thirty-nine of these stories were collected in four separate volumes, one accompanying each of the four novels that Scribner’s published during Fitzgerald's lifetime: Flappers and Philosophers (1920) was the companion volume for This Side of Paradise (1920); Tales of the Jazz Age (1922) for The Beautiful and Damned (1922); All the Sad Young Men (1926) for The Great Gatsby (1925); and Taps at Reveille (1935) for Tender Is the Night (1934). In addition, he wrote a play, The Vegetable, published by Scribner in 1923, and scores of nonfiction pieces, many of which appeared in commercial magazines during his lifetime. At the time of his death he was working on an elaborately conceived novel, The Last Tycoon, which was published posthumously in 1941 as a fragment with Fitzgerald's own notes. When he was not writing for publication, Fitzgerald wrote about his life and about his observations on life in his ledger and in his notebooks, both of which are now available in book form. In spare moments he wrote letters – letters to Maxwell Perkins, his editor at Scribner; letters to his literary agent Harold Ober; letters to literary acquaintances, friends, and family – letters, often about his writing, that now fill four substantial volumes. Above all else, Fitzgerald was a writer, a literary artist, who shared early with Edmund Wilson his immodest goal of becoming “one of the greatest writers who ever lived” (Bruccoli, Some Sort of Epic Grandeur, 70).

The 2016 and 2020 elections in the United States have raised questions about the stability of cultures, practices, and institutions that sustain principles of popular sovereignty. Long-running concerns in the United States about voters’ capacity for deliberation and judgment have urgently come to the fore. What does this mean for college students, many of whom are coming of age politically as newly enfranchised participants in democratic life? This chapter reports the results of a course that brought together first-year college students at two different colleges – one a large, southern public university and another a small, liberal arts college in the northeast. The course was designed to challenge taken-for-granted assumptions about democracy by triangulating democratic theory, social scientific research, and the students’ own on-the-ground investigations, and to prompt student reflection on their democratic participatory lives in a moment of deep popular unrest and elite cynicism about the prospects for self-governance. We document and examine the course, emphasizing connections between the pedagogy and principles under discussion.

This chapter surveys the major scholarly and popular culture responses to the life and work of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and, to a lesser extent, to Zelda Fitzgerald, between 2000 and 2020. The first part of the chapter discusses the films, TV and radio adaptations, stage and ballet versions, and novels based on Fitzgerald’s works or on the Fitzgeralds’ lives. The second part deals with the book-length scholarship and criticism on Fitzgerald’s life and work in the first two decades of the twenty-first century, which has greatly increased and expanded in this period in both subject matter and approach, partially because of the international conferences sponsored by The F. Scott Fitzgerald Society, because of the annual issues of The F. Scott Fitzgerald Review, which began publication in 2002, and because of the completion, in 2019, of the eighteen-volume Cambridge Edition of the Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald. The material in this second part of the chapter is divided into sections on Bibliographies and Other Reference Works, Editions, Correspondence, Biography, and Criticism, with the latter sub-divided into General Studies – Collections, General Studies – Full-Length Works, and Studies of Individual Works.

Popular sovereignty requires a clearly defined and demarcated people. This chapter argues that the identity of the people in a liberal democracy is continually contested and renegotiated because any definition of the people in such a regime is endogenous to a specific political community which itself is ever-changing. As a result, liberal democracies renegotiate and redefine definitions of the people both formally, through laws governing citizenship, naturalization, and immigration, and informally, through redistributive policies and political rhetoric. This chapter illustrates this process of people-making by considering the claims for inclusion in “We the People” made by DREAMers and related efforts to remake definitions of “We the People” evidenced in the political rhetoric and policies of President Donald Trump.

My conclusion consists of a brief analysis of perhaps James’s most famous short story: “The Figure in the Carpet.” Here I argue that, for James, the promise of art is the only promise in which we can place our trust. The difficulty this poses is that such a promise can only be spoken by others, never by us.