Fred Parker - Böcker

'The more we enquire, the less we can resolve,' wrote Johnson. Scepticism-a reasoned emphasis on the severe limitations of rationality-would seem to undermine the grounds of belief and action. But in some of the best eighteenth-century literature, a theoretically paralysing critique of the pretensions of reason, precept, and language went hand in hand with a vigorous intellectual, moral, and linguistic confidence. To realise philosophical scepticism as literature was effectively to transform it. Dr Parker traces the presence of this life-giving irony in works by Pope, Hume, Sterne, and Johnson, relates it more broadly to the social self-consciousness of eighteenth-century culture, and discusses its source in Locke and its inspiration in Montaigne. The argument serves as a reminder that radical scepticism is not the invention of the late twentieth century, and that its strategies and implications have never been more interestingly explored than in the eighteenth.

"What did she say? – Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does."This book explores the act of declaring love in works of literature written between the middle of the eighteenth century and the death of Jane Austen - and uncovers the uncertain boundaries of the self in the force-field of courtship. Declaring love is understood as the hazardous attempt to find public, social terms which can communicate personal feelings and bring intimacy into being. This was a period highly sensitive to the propriety and artificiality of public forms, and hence peculiarly alive to problems around the idea of saying what you feel, problems experienced especially though not exclusively by women. Through this historical lens the author considers the ways in which we may become entangled with one another through language, the limits to our operation as independent individuals, and whether in love you can only feel what you can tell. The first part of the book examines eighteenth-century attitudes towards the independent or disengaged self, performance culture, and the feasibility of sincerity, through readings of a wide range of different works. This provides the basis for a discussion of Austen's novels in the final two chapters, focused on the dynamics of courtship and the moment of proposal, and making much of the role of Austen's narrative voice in supporting the subjectivity of the one in love.

"What did she say? – Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does."This book explores the act of declaring love in works of literature written between the middle of the eighteenth century and the death of Jane Austen - and uncovers the uncertain boundaries of the self in the force-field of courtship. Declaring love is understood as the hazardous attempt to find public, social terms which can communicate personal feelings and bring intimacy into being. This was a period highly sensitive to the propriety and artificiality of public forms, and hence peculiarly alive to problems around the idea of saying what you feel, problems experienced especially though not exclusively by women. Through this historical lens the author considers the ways in which we may become entangled with one another through language, the limits to our operation as independent individuals, and whether in love you can only feel what you can tell. The first part of the book examines eighteenth-century attitudes towards the independent or disengaged self, performance culture, and the feasibility of sincerity, through readings of a wide range of different works. This provides the basis for a discussion of Austen's novels in the final two chapters, focused on the dynamics of courtship and the moment of proposal, and making much of the role of Austen's narrative voice in supporting the subjectivity of the one in love.

Does the Devil lie at the heart of the creative process? In The Devil as Muse, Fred Parker offers an entirely fresh reflection on the age-old question, echoing William Blake's famous statement: "the true poet is of the Devil's party." Expertly examining three literary interpretations of the Devil and his influence upon the artist--Milton's Satan in Paradise Lost, the Mephistopheles of Goethe's Faust, and the one who offers daimonic creativity in Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus--Parker unveils a radical tension between the ethical and the aesthetic. While the Devil is the artist's necessary collaborator and liberating muse, from an ethical standpoint the price paid for such creativity is nothing less damnable than the Faustian pact--and the artist who is creative in that way is seen as accursed, alienated, morally disturbing. In their own different ways, Parker shows, Blake, Byron, and Mann all reflect and acknowledge that tension in their work, and model ways to resolve it through their writing. Linking these literary conceptions with scholarship on the genesis of the historical conception of the Devil and recent work on the role of "otherness" in creativity, Parker insightfully suggests how creative literature can feel its way back along the processes--both theological and psychological--that lie behind such constructions of the Adversary.