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Joseph Butwin’s oral history presents conversations with ten Jewish veterans of the ALB. Recorded from 1992–94 in the wake of European communism’s collapse, the interviews explore the milieus that formed the volunteers. Immigrants established the secular Yiddish-speaking socialism that became a part of many Jewish American communities. Their children, reacting to economic depression and the rise of fascism, enlisted in the ALB. Butwin follows their stories from their youthful motives and choices through their lives as Jews and leftists, and records the reckonings that took place as they reflected on their past.

Insightful and revealing, Salud y Shalom explores the forces of identity and history that led young Jewish leftists to fight fascism.

A timely study of Spanish cinema during the country’s transition to democracy, including how popular and auteur films grappled with the authoritarian past. 

Screening the Transition examines how Spanish cinema produced in the years immediately following Francisco Franco’s death articulated—through its narratives and characterizations—the social and cultural challenges encountered during the country’s transition to democracy. These films reflect emergent post-dictatorship realities, including increased openness toward sexuality and nudity; the erosion of traditional family structures; persistent attachments to, and reckonings with, the Francoist past; the development of political plurality and expanded freedom of expression; and various forms of marginalization, whether economic or based on gender and sexuality. In doing so, the analysis conceptualizes Spain’s transition not solely in political terms, as is commonly the case, but as a profoundly personal and affective process.

Federico Bonaddio demonstrates the limitations of cinema in this period, which at times revealed an inability to transcend deep-seated prejudices and forms of reticence cultivated over nearly four decades of authoritarian rule. These limitations surface in the prurient treatment of female nudity and sexual violence; in the deployment of comedy to belittle or trivialize democratic change; in a preference for metaphor and allegory over direct political engagement; and in the restricted investigative ambitions of historical dramas.

Considering both popular and auteur cinema, the book is primarily concerned with how filmmaking registered the difficulties of consigning the dictatorship fully to the past, despite the so-called pact of forgetting promoted by political elites to facilitate national reconciliation.

A comic and melancholy novel about translation and living between cultures, set during one historic day in Spain: February 21, 1981, the attempted coup against the newborn Spanish democracy.

Early one morning in 1981, Peter Carp, an American poet and translator living in Granada, wakes to the sounds of shouting and the revving of a motorcycle. These interruptions to Peter’s sleep provoke a series of interrelated thoughts, delivered with wry humor, about personal relations in Spain, gossip, the role of women in a patriarchal society, and the after-effects of expelling the Jewish population from Spain in 1492. We are introduced to Peter’s associative view of the world as he draws on a lifetime of reading poetry, of making sense of his own Jewish sensibility, and how it relates to the cultural history of the Spain he has come to love for its music, people, food, and language. 

Peter lives in the home of Alberto, a professor of translation, who was once jailed under Franco’s regime. He has fallen in love with Ana, a young woman who is exploring the new freedoms of post-Franco Spain. Years ago, he had befriended flamenco singers of the Roma community, and his current task is to translate the flamenco lyrics he has collected, a process that challenges his understanding of Spanish and the capacity of language to convey meaning. His day brings him into contact with a wide range of Spaniards, including a gardener at the Alhambra, a group of children playing in the street, a professional beggar, a diverse range of personalities at a neighborhood bar before the midday dinner, and in the evening, a small band of fascist sympathizers encouraged by the attempted coup now taking place in the Spanish parliament.

With prose that mixes social observation, linguistic conjecture, and vivid description, Paul Hecht examines how living is itself a form of translation when moving from one language or culture to another, and how history can erupt into our own world. In Send Down Einstein, Hecht creates a tension between what we dream will happen and what actually does happen. In this bouillabaisse of emotion, the reader will taste how, for Peter Carp—with the right food and the best company—dreams, hope, and words can matter.

Last of the Spanish Renaissance men, Diego Hurtado de Mendoza (1504–1575) was a master of the humanist disciplines as well as an active diplomat whose correspondence provides insight into the workings of power politics in the first post-Machiavellian decades.

This account of Mendoza's diplomatic career is a living commentary on the mid-sixteenth century, the time of the Spanish Inquisition and the Reformation, with its upheavals in the European balance of power. Mendoza served as ambassador of Charles V to Venice and Rome and as governor of Siena. His political life complements the reign of the Emperor whose ambition was to become a universal monarch.

An interesting contradiction in Mendoza's thought—his humanist theories versus personal ambition—prevented him from successful implemention of tyrannical imperial policies. His role in the government of the Holy Roman Empire shows how the exertion of imperialist power, humanist ethics notwithstanding, inevitably entails corruption, hypocrisy, greed, and imbalance in the one who tries to wield this power.

Gifted to the point of universal genius, Mendoza was perhaps the foremost representative of the splendid but little-known epoch of Spanish humanism, the era between the death of Queen Isabel (1504) and the abdication of her grandson Charles V (1556). Spain's short-lived Renaissance came to an abrupt end with the accession of Philip II and the almost simultaneous onset of the Counter Reformation. To this changed Spain, under monolithic thought control now exacted and enforced by monarch and Inquisition, Mendoza returned to live the last third of his life, mostly in obscurity, and in the last few years in royal disgrace.

Based on primary sources, this first biography of Mendoza in English also examines the relevance of some of Don Diego's disputed literary works to the legend that grew up around him as a spokesman for latent unorthodox opinion.

This book explores the abolition of African slavery in Spanish Cuba from 1817 to 1886—from the first Anglo-Spanish agreement to abolish the slave trade until the removal from Cuba of the last vestige of black servitude. Making extensive use of heretofore untapped research sources from the Spanish archives, the author has developed new perspectives on nineteenth-century Spanish policy in Cuba. He skillfully interrelates the problem of slavery with international politics, with Cuban conservative and liberal movements, and with political and economic developments in Spain itself.

Arthur Corwin finds that the study of this problem falls naturally into two phases, the first of which, 1817–1860, traces the gradual reduction of the African traffic to the Spanish Antilles and constitutes, in effect, a study in Anglo-Spanish diplomacy. He gives special attention here to the aggressive nature of British abolitionist diplomacy and the mounting but generally ineffective indignation resulting from Spanish failure to apply sanctions against the traffic, as well as the increasing North American interest in the annexation of Cuba. The first phase has for its principal theme the manner in which for decades Spain feigned compliance with agreements to end the slave trade while actually protecting slaveholding interests as the best means of holding Cuba.

The American Civil War, which destroyed the greatest bulwark of black slavery in the New World, marked the opening of a new phase, 1860–1886. The author strongly emphasizes here such influences as the rise of the Creole reform movement in Cuba and Puerto Rico, which, reading the signs of the times, gave the initial impulse to a Spanish abolitionist movement and contributed to closing the Cuban slave trade in 1866; the liberal revolution of 1868 in Spain and its promise of colonial reforms; the outbreak of the great Creole rebellion in Cuba, 1868–1878, and the abolitionist promises of the rebel chieftains; the threat of American intervention and the abolitionist pressure of American diplomacy; and the protests of the Spanish reactionaries in Spain and Cuba, leading to further procrastination in Madrid. The second phase has as its principal theme the shaping, through all these intertwined factors, of Spain’s first measure of gradual emancipation, the Moret Law of 1870, and all subsequent steps toward abolition.

The story of Spain during World War II has largely been viewed as the story of dictator Francisco Franco’s foreign diplomacy in the aftermath of civil war. Wayne H. Bowen now goes behind the scenes of fascism to reveal less-studied dimensions of Spanish history. By examining the conflicts within the Franco regime and the daily lives of Spaniards, he has written the first book-length assessment of the regime’s formative years and the struggle of its citizens to survive. 

Bowen argues that the emphasis of previous scholars on Spain’s foreign affairs is misplaced—that even the most pro-Axis elements of Franco’s regime were more concerned with domestic politics, the potential for civil unrest, and poverty than with events in Europe. Synthesizing a wide range of Spanish-language scholarship and recently declassified government documents, Bowen reveals how Franco’s government stumbled in the face of world war, inexperienced leaders, contradictory political ideology, and a divided populace. His book tells the dramatic story of a six-year argument among the general, the politicians, and the clerics on nothing less than what should be the nature of the new Spain, touching on issues as diverse as whether the monarchy should be restored and how women should dress.

Examining the effects of World War II years on key facets of Spanish life—Catholicism, the economy, women, leisure, culture, opposition to Franco, and domestic politics—Bowen explores a wide range of topics: the grinding poverty following the civil war, exacerbated by poor economic decisions; restrictions on employment for women versus the relative autonomy enjoyed by female members of the Falange; the efforts of the Church to recover from near decimation; and methods of repression practiced by the regime against leftists, separatists, and Freemasons.  He also shows that the lives of most Spaniards remained apolitical and centered on work, family, and leisure marked by the popularity of American movies and the resurgence of loyalty to regional sports teams.

            Unlike other studies that have focused exclusively on Spain’s foreign affairs during the Second World War, Bowen’s work stresses the importance of the home front not only in keeping Spain out of the war but also in keeping Franco in power. He shows that in spite of internal problems and external distractions, Franco’s government managed to achieve its goals of state survival and internal peace. As the only single-volume survey of this era available in English, Spain during World War II is a masterful synthesis that offers a much-needed alternative view of the Franco regime during crucial times as it provides a testament to the Spanish people’s will to survive.

Revealing how African American intellectuals reframed race, history, and cultural belonging in the modern era

In 1954, Richard Wright rented a car in France and drove south to the Spanish border on the first of two month-long trips that gave rise to the travelogue Pagan Spain, where Wright declared that the Pyrenees, on the France-Spain border, “mark the termination of Europe and the beginning of Africa.” While Spain was not actually seen as an African country, such language suggests instead that Spain would be incomplete without African influences. In the wake of the Spanish-American war of 1898, Americans and Northern Europeans attributed Spain’s weakened economy and loss of international clout to an inability to modernize, which they described in highly racialized terms. As African American modernists explored the country, they compared modernist notions coming out of the United States pertaining to race, gender, and other categories against Spain’s history and contemporary culture. 

Spain in the African American Imagination traces how African American intellectuals in the mid-20th century, including Wright, Arthur Schomburg, Langston Hughes, Dorothy Peterson, and Frank Yerby, interpreted Spanish national myths. Rebecca Pawel argues that a literary idea of Spain as eternally “medieval” or “primitive” gave African American writers a conceptual space for thinking about the ways race is constructed through historical narrative. Spain provided a location that was considered ipso facto archaic and thus used racial referents typical of an era removed from the present in a space that was not quite African and not quite European. Ultimately, Pawel argues, Spain became a powerful lens through which African American intellectuals rewrote racial narratives and reimagined modernity across the Atlantic. 

Before Britain. Before America. There was Spain.

In Spain: The Rise of the First World Power, John Fraser Ramsey traces the evolution of Spain from a battleground of Romans, Visigoths, Moors, and Christians to the most formidable empire of its age. Not merely a chronicle of kings, battles, and dynasties, the book reveals how institutions, beliefs, ambitions, and accidents combined to propel a stubborn and quarrelsome people onto history’s center stage.

In his memorable, avuncular style, Ramsey shows how nations are a mix of virtues and flaws, complicated human communities held together by ingenuity, conviction, and occasional luck. His Spain is not populated solely by monarchs in brocade and generals on horseback. Merchants, clerics, adventurers, bureaucrats, and visionaries all take their places in the procession, forming the untidy pageant from which great powers invariably emerge. The effect is less a lecture than a guided expedition through the machinery of history.

This reissue of Ramsey's longest work arrives at an opportune hour. Amid fissiparous debates about identity, borders, religion, and power, Ramsey supplies the rarer commodity of perspective. Readers interested in Spanish history, European civilization, empire, exploration, military affairs, political institutions, religious history, and cultural exchange will find a rich larder of insight. It is especially suited to those who suspect that the past is more instructive than the slogans with which moderns so industriously replace it.

How does a totalitarian government influence the arts, and how do the arts respond? Spanish Film Under Franco raises these important questions, giving English speakers a starting point in their study of Spanish cinema.

After a brief overview of Spanish film before Franco, the author proceeds to a discussion of censorship as practiced by the Franco regime. The response of directors to censorship—the “franquista aesthetic,” or “aesthetic of repression,” with its highly metaphorical, oblique style—is explored in the works of Luis Buñuel, Carlos Saura, Juan Antonio Bardem, Luis García Berlanga, and other important directors.

Virginia Higginbotham combines historical perspective with detailed critical analysis and interpretation of many famous Franco-era films. She shows how directors managed to evade the censors and raise public awareness of issues relating to the Spanish Civil War and the repressions of the Franco regime.

Film has always performed an educational function in Spain, reaching masses of poor and uneducated citizens. And sometimes, as this study also reveals, Spanish film has been ignored when the questions it raised became too painful or demanding.

The author concludes with a look at post-Franco cinema and the directions it has taken. For anyone interested in modern Spanish film, this book will be essential reading.