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On the Future of Our Educational Institutions, the work that was to have been Nietzsche's second book until he canceled the contract and used portions in his Untimely Meditations, is a substantial call for radical educational reform presented in the form of a prolonged narrative dialogue. It is presented here in the first English translation ever from the standard critical edition (a little-known translation was made for the Complete Works of 1909, long out of print). Here Nietzsche, through the characters of this prolonged narrative dialogue, starts from a consideration of German educational institutions and rises to a consideration of what is needed for true, or classical, education. Though Nietzsche engages his contemporary world more in this work than in perhaps any other, this engagement is neither arbitrary nor limiting. Starting where one is and has grown up happens to be the necessary grounding of the organic unity that belongs to true culture: "Every so-called classical education has only one healthy and natural starting point, the artistic, serious, and rigorous habituation in the use of the mother tongue. . . . Here where gradually the distinguishing feeling for form and for barbarism awakes, the wing bestirs itself for the first time that carries to the right and sole home of education, to Greek antiquity. Of course we would not come very far with the help of that wing all alone in the attempt to bring ourselves close to that castle of the Hellenic, infinitely distant and enclosed within diamond ramparts: rather anew we need the same leaders, the same teachers, our German classics, in order ourselves to become swept away under the wingbeat of their ancient endeavors – to the land of longing, to Greece."

In this dialogue, Nietzsche considers what it would mean to put education, culture, first in priority above all else, above religion, above economics, even above the state. The dialogue's call for educational reform goes so far as to require that the state be completely subordinated to the demands and needs of culture. The state must not be "a border guard, regulator, or overseer for his culture; rather the robust, muscular comrade, ready for battle, and companion on the way, who gives the admired, nobler, and, as it were, unearthly friend safe conduct through the harsh realities and for that earns his thankfulness."

Not only does the dialogue demand that the state subordinate itself to education, but it goes on to suggest that widespread educational institutions are for the sake of only a small number of beneficiaries. This radical and uncompromising devotion to the education of a very few sketches Nietzsche's thoughts on education perhaps more completely than any other work.

In addition, this dialogue offers numerous other objects of interest. The dialogue form shows off Nietzsche's literary art and offers an occasion to think carefully about the special tasks involved in reading philosophic texts well. The circumstances of this text's writing and its nearly being published offer insights both into Nietzsche's development and into the production of his works, especially regarding the Untimely Meditations. The letters and notes in the appendices help to flesh out the thinking that surrounds this text as well as to suggest the form of the never-written sixth lecture. Also Nietzsche's engagement with the immediate tradition of his contemporary milieu, not only with Goethe, Schiller, and Lessing but also with lesser figures such as Koetzebue, Grillparzer, and Gutzkow, should be of interest to intellectual historians and students of European culture.

Nietzsche read On the Future of Our Educational Institutions publicly in the form of five lectures. He then tried to rush it into publication, and it very nearly became Nietzsche's second book. Only at the last moment did he withdraw the book from the public. Now it is available in English.

A powerful true story of survival, displacement, and hope in a world at war.

Muriel Gillick draws from a remarkable set of primary source materials, including letters, telegrams, and police records to relate the story of two teenage refugees during World War II. Once They Had a Country conveys well what it was like to establish a new life in a foreign country—over and over again and in constant fear for one’s life. The work tells of the extraordinary experiences of the author’s parents in Europe and demonstrates how citizens and the governments of Belgium, France, Switzerland, Brazil, America, China, and postwar Germany treated refugees. This story also reveals the origins of the Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees, the basis of contemporary international law affecting refugees in many countries today.

In addition to the dramatic human story it tells, this work brings the plight of refugees home to the reader—and with over 8 million refugees worldwide today, the subject of how individuals and nation states respond to these individuals is indeed timely.

Even a casual perusal of seventeenth-century European print production makes clear that the Turk was on everyone’s mind. Europe’s confrontation of and interaction with the Ottoman Empire in the face of what appeared to be a relentless Ottoman expansion spurred news delivery and literary production in multiple genres, from novels and sermons to calendars and artistic representations. The trans-European conversation stimulated by these media, most importantly the regularly delivered news reports, not only kept the public informed but provided the basis for literary conversations among many seventeenth-century writers, three of whom form the center of this inquiry: Daniel Speer (1636-1707), Eberhard Werner Happel (1647-1690), and Erasmus Francisci (1626-1694). The expansion of the Ottoman Empire during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries offers the opportunity to view these writers' texts in the context of Europe and from a more narrowly defined Ottoman Eurasian perspective.

Ottoman Eurasia in Early Modern German Literature: Cultural Translations (Francisci, Happel, Speer) explores the variety of cultural and commercial conversations between Europe and Ottoman Eurasia as they negotiated their competing economic and hegemonic interests. Brought about by travel, trade, diplomacy, and wars, these conversations were, by definition, “cross-cultural” and diverse. They eroded the antagonism of “us and them,” the notion of the European center and the Ottoman periphery that has historically shaped the view of European-Ottoman interactions.

By analyzing how protest fused the politics of reading and writing in 1968 West Germany, author Peter Schweppe uncovers the vibrant history of an alternative literary form during a watershed moment of social upheaval. Out of Line interlinks the politics of reading and writing with the verve of Global Sixties’ protest, where fringe books, underground newspapers, incendiary flyers, and furtive graffiti galvanized readers and writers alike. The phrase “out of line” scrutinizes the emerging performative relationship between visual and textual media in the late 1960s as it metamorphosed modes of West German literary production, channeled the agenda of the protest movement, and, in doing so, shaped new kinds of textual meaning. Through its engagement with theories of materiality and “things,” Out of Line interrogates the dynamic ways that protest readers and writers pushed and broke conventional boundaries. Schweppe’s exploration of form discloses how reading and writing out of line implicates a textual and material history of protest and the lessons it offers protest histories to come.