Chapter 7 studies how Kasımpaşa, nearby the Arsenal, transformed into working-class neighborhoods, focusing on the complicated connections between migration networks, labor coercion, industrial production, and urban modernization.Utilizing wage and population records, it demonstrates how shipbuilding was central to the district’s demography and culture, and how regional and occupational networks were significant in settlement patterns. It investigates the connections between forced labor draft (particularly from the Black Sea coasts and Alexandria/Egypt), the increasing visibility of bachelors, the settlement of working-class families, and the urban policies and elite perceptions towards the district. It investigates the social, cultural, and economic divergence between Kasımpaşa and the adjacent Galata-Pera axis in Istanbul, the epicenter of urban reforms in the Tanzimat Era. It highlights the emergence of a working-class culture, and analyzes the proletarian experiences of working-class families and the increasing contention between working-class men and women and the Ottoman state, by focusing particularly on strikes and petitioning.

Chapter 5 explores the construction of women, especially young women, as dubious and untrustworthy figures in male discourse, a source of cynicism and doubt about kinship’s future. It captures men’s fears about ‘greedy’ women and ‘gold diggers’ who only want to marry men in order to expropriate their wealth. At the same time, the chapter explores counter-discourses of young women getting by in a world of male failure, their relations with their male kin, and their ambitions to become successful ‘hustlers’ in their own right. Speaking to regional literature on love, marriage, and youth relationships, it explores the gendered tensions created by a world of masculine destitution, illuminating male fears about the capacity of women to exploit their ‘in-betweenness’ to acquire patrilineal land.

Chapter 4 turns towards the role of women’s work in reproducing the household, focusing on the labour of relation-making in the neighbourhood as a means of creating economic networks through which material assistance can be sought. Commenting on anthropological literature that frames African contexts as ones of ‘mutuality’ and ‘obligation’, the chapter discusses the difficulty of finding assistance for aspirational projects (especially school fees) in an atomised neighbourhood where families compete for the prestige of economic advancement. It remarks upon the possibilities and limits of caring labour as a means through which women enter into economic relations of mutual support with others.

“Manners” alternates between the portrayal of self-reliant “gentlemen” like Montaigne, Socrates, and El Cid, who are “original and commanding” and “fashion,” an imitative “hall of the Past” where “virtue [has] gone to seed.” But near the end of the essay he turns away from forms of aristocratic morality by introducing two new heroes: a woman, “the Persian Lilla,” who reconciles “all heterogeneous persons into one society”; and then “Osman,” a poor beggar at the gates of the Shah who is a “great heart … so sunny and hospitable in the centre of the country,” and whose wealth lies in his ability to “harbor” madness without sharing it. The introduction of Lilla and Osman late in “Manners” raises the question of how they align with its other heroes. Are they part of a turn or contrary tendency showing up late in the essay, or a deeper exploration of forms of virtue – especially love – already introduced?

This chapter focuses on hymns designed to accompany the burial of wives and mothers, identified variously as “In funere mulierum” (“On women’s burial,” madrāshâ 32) and “In funere matrisfamilias” (“On the burial of a female householder,” madrāshâ 31). Their collection is part of the necrosima’s “family section,” a segment of the collection addressing the burial of married men, women, children, and youths. As such, they provide insight into the construction of feminine identity in Syriac Christian communities at the intersection of social strictures and biblical models. The chapter also reflects an initial foray into the question of the hymns’ function in their original setting as part of funerary processions, including their performance by women’s choirs who voiced both the part of the deceased and that of her community. In these contexts, the hymns could serve as pedagogical performances, remapping the Syrian city with an eye towards both protological and eschatological realities.

Modern Hebrew literature in general – and Israeli literature specifically – has often been read as challenging the Zionist master narrative, a meta-story that combines the movements of Jewish homecoming and nation building. Both the narrative and its counter challenge are dominated by writers who are male and Ashkenazi. This chapter focuses on the writing of Orly Castel-Bloom and Ronit Matalon, who are neither. Beginning in 1987 and 1991, respectively, these Mizrachi women writers introduced literary forms, strategies, and concerns that have established some of the most profound changes to Israeli literature. While very different from each other – one tending toward minimalism, the other toward maximalism – they both eschew coherence for fragmentation, linearity for multiplicity, the center for the periphery. Throughout their works it is the daughter – sometimes a sister, wife, or mother, but always the daughter – who faces contemporary realities, interpersonal challenges, and daily struggles in her effort to keep from being effaced.

Chapter 18 introduces the theory of natural law to be found in Plotinus and in Proclus in connection with the interpretation of Plato’s Timaeus. Natural law derives from the ‘law of being’ which is divine Intellect and from souls which, in their nature, are laws unto themselves (autonomous). Divine and natural law are considered as paradigmatic for human law. I explore this relationship as it is presented in Proclus and as exemplified in the idea of rulership for women. Appropriate knowledge in metaphysics and physics is required of the legislator in formulating corresponding human law.

Who were the women of Meerut, said to have turned a nonviolent military mutiny – a refusal to load and fire a weapon – into a violent revolt that nearly toppled the British Raj? Were they prostitutes, or were they wives? There is much in the book to suggest the latter, but (ironically) that same evidence also suggests the simultaneous possibility of the former. This paradoxical formulation requires a more nuanced understanding of the nature of north Indian marriage in mid-century. A more fundamental question is: Did the women of Meerut exist? Or were they the product of overheated imaginations casting about for exculpation – on both sides of the racial divide? This necessitates a further examination of the two sources for the story of the Meerut women, or rather the question of their independent narrative origin. While the evidence militates in favor of their historicity, gender humiliation was already in the air: Even if they did not exist, they would be invented. They matter not simply because they enable us to add women to the mix of history (and stir, as the saying goes), but because they allow us to perceive something fundamental about the nature of history itself.

The military revolt and widespread rebellion that overtook north India in 1857 was, arguably, the most significant challenge to the British Empire in the nineteenth century. Given the global historical significance of 1857, it is not surprising that the events of that year have been subjected to intense scrutiny by historians – especially as that fateful year began to loom large after 1900 as “India’s First War of Independence.” Historians have long noted that the first serious blood spilled in 1857 occurred in the military garrison town of Meerut, north of Delhi. And historians almost always point to the catalyzing role of local women – usually described as “prostitutes” – of the cantonment bazaar, who were said to have provided the spark that set the cantonment on fire. But who were these women? Surprisingly, despite 170 years of historiography, this question has not been asked till now. It is at the heart of the present study.

This chapter considers the deployment of radical Orientalism as a mode of political critique in the popular fiction of the bestselling Chartist leader and author George W. M. Reynolds. It focuses on the structural congruences between the depictions of aristocratic debauchery in his two Mysteries series (1844–8; 1848–56) and the figuration of Old Corruption as in league with the Jewish sweater in ‘The Seamstress’ in Reynolds’s Miscellany (1850). Examination of this alignment permits a discussion of the mutable hierarchies within the category of the People at mid-nineteenth century, focused specifically on those groups excluded from full political rights: the working-class man, women, and Jews. It considers how Reynolds’s use of radical literary-political tropes positions Jews as Occidental in matters of parliamentary democracy, but designates them Oriental when the sweating system that they are understood to represent is figured as an atavistic, foreign, and unchristian form of economics.

The prototypical form of hybris in the Greek sources involved the self-assertion of the rich and powerful, which resulted in their disrespecting their subordinates in arrogating to themselves claims to respect they were not entitled to. This contribution looks at the flipside of this scenario, because hybris can also work in the opposite direction: from the bottom up. Hybris, that is, can also involve subordinates overstepping their position in the social hierarchy and arrogating to themselves prerogatives reserved for those higher up the social ladder. While denouncing the hybris of the powerful has egalitarian implications – it defends the right to equal respect (or at least to some respect) of those who are disrespected – denouncing the hybris of the downtrodden towards their superiors is a tool for maintaining and reproducing a social hierarchy by grounding it on an allegedly shared (yet heavily asymmetrical) recognition order.

While early twentieth-century Western European and North American modernism has been characterized as a shock, its reverberations pulled the effects of the past variously in the wake of the new, depending on one’s circumstances in global modernity. This chapter discusses how, in that rupture/transition, the passages of Elizabeth Bowen, Pauline Smith, Dorothy Livesay, Katherine Mansfield, and Jean Rhys into and out of British imperial metropole London in the “Mother Country” (England), reveal their self-conscious adaptations of modernist technologies, undoing some imperial trappings and redoing prevailing imperial-patriarchal structures of value and status to which they claim membership. Each woman conveys the effects of empire–democracy, while struggling to retain belief in the liberal humanist subject/author captured in the figure of the “New Woman.” “Technology” refers to both the material infrastructure of modernity (mass reproduction, invention, and innovation) as well as “teks,” the fabric woven to convey the intangible but felt experiences of being in empire. The chapter unpacks the different implications of the gendered, racialized, and classed discourses of modernity in the nation-state – mastering, producing, doing – for these writers, who were positioned unequally to each other and who interpreted socialist, feminist, and anticolonialist movements differentially.