A sweeping account of three Gujarati Muslim trading communities, whose commercial success over nearly two centuries sheds new light on the history of capitalism, Islam, and empire in South Asia.

During the nineteenth century, three Gujarati Muslim commercial castes—the Bohras, Khojas, and Memons—came to dominate Muslim business in South Asia. Although these communities constitute less than 1 percent of South Asia’s Muslim population, they are still disproportionately represented among the region’s leading Muslim-owned firms today. In No Birds of Passage, Michael O’Sullivan argues that the conditions enabling their success have never been understood, thanks to stereotypes—embraced equally by colonial administrators and Muslim commentators—that estrange them from their religious identity. Yet while long viewed as Hindus in all but name, or as “Westernized” Muslims who embraced colonial institutions, these groups in fact entwined economic prerogatives and religious belief in a distinctive form of Muslim capitalism.

Following entrepreneurial firms from Gujarat to the Hijaz, Hong Kong, Mombasa, Rangoon, and beyond, O’Sullivan reveals the importance of kinship networks, private property, and religious obligation to their business endeavors. This paradigm of Muslim capitalism found its highest expression in the jamaats, the central caste institutions of each community, which combined South Asian, Islamicate, and European traditions of corporate life. The jamaats also played an essential role in negotiating the position of all three groups in relation to British authorities and Indian Muslim nationalists, as well as the often-sharp divisions within the castes themselves.

O’Sullivan’s account sheds light on Gujarati Muslim economic life from the dawn of colonial hegemony in India to the crisis of the postcolonial state, and provides fascinating insights into the broader effects of capitalist enterprise on Muslim experience in modern South Asia.

This book, the first of its kind in English, examines the reinvention of loyalism in colonial Taiwan through the lens of literature. It analyzes the ways in which writers from colonial Taiwan—including Qiu Fengjia, Lian Heng, Wu Zhuoliu, and others—creatively and selectively employed loyalist ideals to cope with Japanese colonialism and its many institutional changes. In the process, these writers redefined their relationship with China and Chinese culture.

Drawing attention to select authors’ lesser-known works, author Chien-hsin Tsai provides a new assessment of well-studied historical and literary materials and a nuanced overview of literary and cultural productions in colonial Taiwan. During and after Japanese colonialism, the islanders’ perception of loyalism, sense of belonging, and self-identity dramatically changed. Tsai argues that the changing tradition of loyalism unexpectedly complicates Taiwan’s tie to China, rather than unquestionably reinforces it, and presents a new line of inquiry for future studies of modern Chinese and Sinophone literature.

Passage to Dusk deals with the Lebanese civil war of the 1970s in a postmodern, poetic style. The narrative focuses on the deranged, destabilized, confused, and hyper-perceptive state of mind created by living on the scene through a lengthy war. The story is filled with details that transcend the willed narcissism of the main character, while giving clues to the culture of the time. It is excellent fiction, written in a surrealistic mode, but faithful to the characters of the people of Lebanon, their behavior during the war, and their contradictions. Issues of gender and identity are acutely portrayed against Lebanon's shifting national landscape.

The English-language reader has not been much exposed to Lebanese literature in translation, and Rashid al-Daif is one of Lebanon's leading writers. He has been translated into eight languages, including French, German, Italian, Polish, and Spanish. Translator Nirvana Tanoukhi manages to preserve Daif's unusual, moving, and at times humorous style in her English rendition.

With admirable lucidity and scrupulous attention to detail, Silas Wu recreates the conflict and intrigue that marked the struggle for succession to the throne of China during the reign of Emperor K’ang-hsi. This crisis, as Wu portrays it, stemmed from irreconcilable familial commitments and imperial responsibilities. K’ang-hsi, frequently compared to his contemporaries Louis XIV and Peter the Great, is depicted here as a psychologically complex individual with bewildering inconsistencies in his behavior. His fears and doubts persistently confounded his ministers, impeding the effectiveness of his rule. Yin-jeng, his talented and promising son, had been hand-picked to succeed from infancy, but steadily degenerated into cruelty, immorality, and madness, becoming totally unfit to be the heir to the throne of the Chinese empire.

The story is told against the complex background of the K’ang-hsi era with specific delineations of the chief personalities concerned. This multifaceted approach enables Wu to link political events of the time to the conflicting desires and passions of father and son. His careful investigation of the cultural concept of filial piety and its profound influence on K’ang-hsi enables him to unravel the latter’s paradoxical behavior, both private and public. Even the subtle effects of contemporary social changes on the court at Peking come to light through Wu’s comprehensive analysis.

Wu has utilized nearly every document available on the subject including letters, diaries, intelligence reports, and K’ang-hsi’s secret correspondence with court officials. The result is an unusual book that unites history and psychology.

Migration fundamentally shapes the processes of national belonging and socioeconomic mobility in Mexico—even for people who never migrate or who return home permanently. Discourse about migrants, both at the governmental level and among ordinary Mexicans as they envision their own or others’ lives in “El Norte,” generates generic images of migrants that range from hardworking family people to dangerous lawbreakers. These imagined lives have real consequences, however, because they help to determine who can claim the resources that facilitate economic mobility, which range from state-sponsored development programs to income earned in the North.

Words of Passage is the first full-length ethnography that examines the impact of migration from the perspective of people whose lives are affected by migration, but who do not themselves migrate. Hilary Parsons Dick situates her study in the small industrial city of Uriangato, in the state of Guanajuato. She analyzes the discourse that circulates in the community, from state-level pronouncements about what makes a “proper” Mexican to working-class people’s talk about migration. Dick shows how this migration discourse reflects upon and orders social worlds long before—and even without—actual movements beyond Mexico. As she listens to men and women trying to position themselves within the migration discourse and claim their rights as “proper” Mexicans, she demonstrates that migration is not the result of the failure of the Mexican state but rather an essential part of nation-state building.