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Giorgio Mariani rigorously engages with the essential question of what makes a text explicitly anti-war. Ranging from Emerson and Joel Barlow to Maxine Hong Kingston and Tim O'Brien, Waging War on War explores why sustained attempts at identifying the anti-war text's formal and philosophical features seem to always end at an impasse. Mariani moves a step beyond to construct a theoretical model that invites new inquiries into America's nonviolent, nonconformist tradition even as it challenges the ways we study U.S. warmaking and the cultural reactions to it. In the process, he shows how the ideal of nonviolence and a dislike of war have been significant, if nonhegemonic, features of American culture since the nation's early days.

Ambitious and nuanced, Waging War on War at last defines anti-war literature while exploring the genre's role in an assertive peacefighting project that offered--and still offers--alternatives to violence.

Waiting for Cancer to Come tells the stories of women who are struggling with their high risk for cancer. Based on interviews and surveys of dozens of women, this book pieces together the diverse yet interlocking experiences of women who have tested positive for the BRCA 1/2 gene mutations, which indicate a higher risk of developing breast and ovarian cancer. Sharlene Hesse-Biber brings these narratives to light and follows women’s journeys from deciding to get screened for BRCA, to learning the test has come back positive, to dealing with their risk. Many women already know the challenges of a family history riddled with cancer and now find themselves with the devastating knowledge of their own genetic risk. Using the voices of the women themselves to describe the under-explored BRCA experience, Waiting for Cancer to Come looks at the varied emotional, social, economic, and psychological factors at play in women’s decisions about testing and cancer prevention.

WINNER OF THE ELIZABETH AGEE PRIZE IN AMERICAN LITERATURE

Examining Whitman’s poetic development through the documented influence of nineteenth‑century women reformers.

Walt Whitman and 19th-Century Women Reformers documents Whitman's friendships with women during the 1850s, the decade of Whitman's most creative period. The book reveals startling connections between the first three editions of Leaves of Grass and the texts generated by the women he knew during this period, many of whom were radical activists in the women's rights movement.

Sherry Ceniza argues that Whitman's editions of Leaves became progressively more radically 'feminist' as he followed the women's rights movement during the 1850s and that he was influenced by what he called the 'true woman of the new aggressive type . . . woman under the new dispensation.' Ceniza documents the progression of the National Woman's Rights movement through the lives and writings of three of its leaders- Abby Hills Price, Paulina Wright Davis, and Ernestine L. Rose. By juxtaposing the texts written by these women with Leaves, Ceniza shows that Whitman used many of the same arguments and rhetorical gestures as his female activist friends.

The book also discusses the influence of women engaged in women's rights outside the National Woman's Rights organization. And Ceniza's opening chapter is devoted to a fresh interpretation of the life and thought of another strong-minded woman who influenced the poet's writing-Louisa Van Velsor Whitman, Walt Whitman's mother.

 For Walt Whitman, living and working in Washington, D.C., after the Civil War, Reconstruction meant not only navigating these tumultuous years alongside his fellow citizens but also coming to terms with his own memories of the war. Just as the work of national reconstruction would continue long past its official end in 1877, Whitman’s own reconstruction would continue throughout the remainder of his life as he worked to revise his poetic project—and his public image—to incorporate the disasters that had befallen the Union. In this innovative and insightful analysis of the considerable poetic and personal reimagining that is the hallmark of these postwar years, Martin Buinicki reveals the ways that Whitman reconstructed and read the war.

Now in paperback, an insightful analysis of the great theorist's most unusual work: a diverse collection of radio broadcasts for children. 

In light of the legendary difficulty of Walter Benjamin's works, it is a strange and intriguing fact that from 1929 to 1933, the great critic and cultural theorist wrote—and broadcast—numerous scripts, on the order of fireside chats, for children. Invited to speak on whatever subject he considered appropriate, Benjamin talked to the children of Frankfurt and Berlin about the destruction of Pompeii, an earthquake in Lisbon, and a railroad disaster at the Firth of Tay. He spoke about bootlegging and swindling, cataclysm and suicide, Faust and Cagliostro. In this first sustained analysis of the thirty surviving scripts, Jeffrey Mehlman demonstrates how Benjamin used the unlikely forum of children's radio to pursue some of his central philosophical and theological concerns.

In Walter Benjamin for Children, readers will encounter a host of intertextual surprises: an evocation of the flooding of the Mississippi informed by the argument of "The Task of the Translator;" a discussion of scams in stamp-collecting that turns into "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction;" a tale of bootlegging in the American South that converges with the best of Benjamin's essays on fiction. Mehlman superimposes a dual series of texts dealing with catastrophe, on the one hand, and fraud, on the other, that resonate with the false-messianic theology of Sabbatianism as it came to focus the attention and enthusiasm of Benjamin's friend Gershom Scholem during the same years. The radio scripts for children, that is, offer an unexpected byway, on the eve of the apocalypse, into Benjamin's messianic preoccupations.

A child's garden of deconstruction, these twenty-minute talks—from the perspective of childhood, before an invisible audience, on whatever happened to cross the critic's mind—are also by their very nature the closest we may ever come to a transcript of a psychoanalysis of Walter Benjamin. Particularly alive to that circumstance, Mehlman explores the themes of the radio broadcasts and brilliantly illuminates their hidden connections to Benjamin's life and work.

This lucid analysis brings to light some of the least researched and understood aspects of Walter Benjamin's thought. It will interest and provoke literary theorists and philosophers of culture, as well as anyone who hopes to understand one of this century's most suggestive and perplexing critics.

Warring Genealogies examines the elaboration of kinships between Chicano/a and Asian American cultural production, such as the 1954 proxy adoption of a Korean boy by Leavenworth prisoners. Joo Ok Kim considers white supremacist expressions of kinship—in prison magazines, memorials, U.S. military songbooks—as well as critiques of such expressions in Chicana/o and Korean diasporic works to conceptualize racialized formations of kinship emerging from the Korean War.

Warring Genealogies unpacks writings by Rolando Hinojosa (Korean Love Songs, The Useless Servants) and Luis Valdez (I Don’t Have to Show You No Stinking Badges, Zoot Suit) to show the counter-representations of the Korean War and the problematic depiction of the United States as a benevolent savior. Kim also analyzes Susan Choi’s The Foreign Student as a novel that proposes alternative temporalities to dominant Korean War narratives. In addition, she examines Chicano military police procedurals, white supremacist women’s organizations, and the politics of funding Korean War archives.

Kim’s comparative study Asian American and Latinx Studies makes insightful connections about race, politics, and citizenship to critique the Cold War conception of the “national family.”

Rethinking darkness through the politics and possibilities of vision

Darkness is widely misunderstood, argues Kyle Parry. We take darkness as the enemy of sight, yet we can’t see without it. We call the worst parts of our lives dark, yet we wouldn’t be here without wombs, skulls, oceans, the moon, and other shadowed places. Ways of Seeing After Dark contends that darkness is not absence but presence, shaping how worlds are sensed, inhabited, and understood. Darkness brings peril, but it is also a fundamental, if increasingly threatened, condition of living together on this planet.

Tracing links between John Berger’s influential Ways of Seeing and his more poetic later writings, Parry recasts contemporary conditions defined by light pollution, digital mediation, and racialized regimes of seeing. In dialogue with artists, critics, and astronomers, Ways of Seeing After Dark examines how fear of darkness is built rather than universal and how such training intersects with broader social structures, including racism and capitalism. Showing how “felt darkness displaces physical darkness” and “brighter nights bring darker days,” Parry reveals the dark as a multifaceted phenomenon with political and perceptual significance, calling for new ways of seeing with and through the night.

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Michigan poet laureate Melba Joyce Boyd’s tenth poetry collection, We See We, is a deeply emplaced volume, grounded in Boyd’s hometown of Detroit. The book takes its title from a poem in the collection dedicated to the late photographer, photojournalist, and filmmaker Hugh Grannum, who trained his camera on Black Detroit. Boyd takes a similar approach in this volume, collecting poems “about seeing our collective selves within our interconnected individual lives.” Divided into two sections—Inflexions and Elegies—the poems evoke Detroit’s past and present through works about Romare Bearden at the Detroit Institute of Arts, Idlewild, the 1967 Detroit Rebellion, Aretha Franklin, John Sinclair, and the varied lives of people Boyd knew and loved who demonstrate that you do not have to be famous to have historical impact. As former Michigan poet laureate Nandi Comer writes in the interview that concludes the volume, the poems in this collection are “filled with artists, friends, elders, and collaborators,” making the poems in the collection into “an education in Detroit’s artistic life.”