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The condition of our public discussions about literary and cultural works has much to say about the state of our democracy. Classrooms, newspapers, magazines, Internet forums, and many other places grant citizens a place to hold public discourses—and claim a voice on national artistic matters. 

Rosa A. Eberly looks at four censorship controversies where professionals asserted their authority to deny citizen critics a voice—and effectively removed discussion of literature from the public sphere. Eberly compares the outrage sparked by the publication of James Joyce's Ulysses and Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer with the relative quiescence that greeted the much more violent and sexually explicit content of Bret Easton Ellis's American Psycho and Andrea Dworkin's Mercy. Through a close reading of letters to the editor, reviews, media coverage, and court cases, Eberly shows how literary critics and legal experts defused censorship debates—and undercut the authority of citizen critics—by shifting the focus from content to aesthetics and from social values to publicity.

Examining how a single book inspired devotion, dread, and lasting superstition in Russian letters

When James Joyce first published Ulysses in 1922, the book enjoyed a hearty welcome in the Soviet Union. In fact, Russian was the second language into which excerpts were translated. However, the early enthusiasm soon gave way to apprehension, and then to public condemnation. The Russian literary community found itself at the epicenter of the political repression of the 1930s, suffering enormous losses among writers and translators, who died en masse through executions and exile. In the context of Ulysses, the numerous violent deaths of its Soviet translators and editors gave rise to rumors, which then developed into superstitious beliefs that managed to outlive their own time. Russian translation scholar Natalia Kamovnikova examines the struggles faced by those who attempted early translations, including death and imprisonment, and how both this translation work and the text itself became sources of fear.

Alongside important background on these early translation attempts, including information on the translators themselves, The Fearful Steelpen unpacks the literary approaches to rendering Joyce’s aesthetics in Russian and traces the socio-political beliefs behind translation and publishing decisions. Kamovnikova goes further, to examine why Ulysses in particular aroused fears in both in its contemporaries and in subsequent generations of Russian writers, as if the text held a dangerous power that could harm those working on it. This fascinating publishing case study reveals the complicated cultural and political dynamics at work behind a seemingly simple translation from one language to another that still resonates in the contemporary moment.