Victorian Keats and Romantic Carlyle: The Fusions and Confusions of Literary Periods

Cover
C. C. Barfoot
Rodopi, 1999 - 356 Seiten
Both John Keats and Thomas Carlyle were born in 1795, but one rarely thinks of them together. When one does, curious speculations result. It is difficult to think of Carlyle as a young Romantic or of Keats as a Victorian Sage, but had Carlyle died prematurely and had Keats lived to a ripe old age, we might now be considering a Romantic Carlyle and a Victorian Keats. Such a juxtaposition leads one to consider the use and abuse, the fusions and confusions, of period terms in literary history and in criticism. Does Carlyle represent Romanticism as typically as Keats? Does Keats's work give us any cause to believe that he might have developed into a Victorian poet? Do the terms Romanticism and Victorian have any useful literary historical and literary critical value? What are the marks of the transition from one to the other? Or is the existence of such a transition an illusion? In this volume, some essays consider aspects of Keats or of Carlyle independently, or together, or focus on contemporaries of one or other or of both and explore the effect of their literary and ideological relationships, and the often indefinable sense that we all have of different styles, manners and periods, as well as the awareness that we might all be equally deceived about such distinctive boundaries and definitions.
 

Inhalt

Victorian Keats and Romantic Carlyle
1
Aveek
21
Allan C Christensen
53
Jacqueline Schoemaker
79
Jane Mallinson
95
Keith White
121
Helga Hushahn
141
Margaret Rundle
169
Geraldine Higgins
205
Phillip Mallett
223
Thomas Carlyle
247
Odin Dekkers
267
Douglas S Mack
283
Bart Veldhoen
299
Atheism and Belief in Shelley Swinburne
323
Notes on Contributors
339

Ann Rigney
191

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Seite 16 - O born in days when wits were fresh and clear, And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames ; Before this strange disease of modern life, With its sick hurry, its divided aims...
Seite 13 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret, Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...

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