Despite neo-Victorianism's theoretical awareness of how colonial structures continue to infuse imaginations of the long nineteenth century, and how neo-Victorian culture might challenge both Victorian and contemporary ideological structures, common practices of neo-Victorian scholarship too often remain constricted in their geographical and conceptual breadth. In thinking about the structural convergences and challenges between Victorian studies and neo-Victorian studies, this keyword entry emphasizes texts and cultural traditions that have rarely been the purview of the neo-Victorian. Informed by Ronjaunee Chatterjee, Alicia Mireles Christoff, and Amy R. Wong's analysis of race as a central function in Victorian studies, it charts alternative neo-Victorian genealogies in anglophone African and Black British literatures and cultures. On this basis, it asks how conceptions of the neo-Victorian will need to change if the field is to take seriously its anticolonial potential.

In Victorian studies, the term “extraction” helps us express the nineteenth-century emergence of a society fully reliant on finite underground materials and thereby describe the material and value relations at the heart of imperialism and at the heart of the provincial-metropole dynamic. Much of the recent attention to extraction in Victorian studies and beyond returns us to the sites of removal, to the extraction zones or sacrifice zones left behind when commodities of value are withdrawn, tallied, and sold. In Victorian literature, England's coal mines, copper mines, quarries, and other sites of extraction left a hefty footprint, but so did the British extractive industry that was increasingly moving to the colonial frontier. Written in the aftermath of the emergence of the first fossil-fuel-based society, Victorian literature is a crucial archive for understanding extractivism and how it was both normalized and challenged across the British imperial world.

In this essay, I argue for the importance of employing the concept of the urban when analyzing Victorian Britain, given the status of the British Isles as the most urbanized place on the planet during the nineteenth century.

Nineteenth-century piracy expressed a winking attitude toward many widespread forms of unauthorized reuse and thus conditioned the emergence of vast, innovative, and dynamic pan-media and transnational networks of aesthetic communications.

This article makes a case to the effect that the free will vs. determinism dichotomy is relevant for Victorianists.

The Victorian period was notorious for its oblique representations of sexual violence. This article argues that rape is a necessary word and concept for Victorian studies and, we contend, a keyword for a growing subfield of literary and cultural scholarship, humanistic rape studies. Without rape as a stable signifier of specific acts, we find ourselves transported back to the nineteenth century, fumbling like Tess Durbeyfield for language that adequately describes what happened. Rape remains an indispensable domain of nineteenth-century literary studies precisely because it is a thoroughly historically contingent phenomenon. It is part of the power of rape, of its current structural pervasiveness, that it is capable of shaping people's expectations to such an extent that it suggests itself as a timeless, eternally recurring fact of life, when it actually amounts to an intensely situated set of behaviors, many of which crystallized into their current forms in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, propelled by changing labor conditions, European imperialism, and shifting family and romantic configurations. Literary scholarship, especially in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century studies, has traditionally attempted to tether representations of gender-based violence to “objective,” transhistorical frameworks such as “the law” and psychology, a move we wish to counter here.

In the nineteenth century, Britain had intense political, economic, and cultural relations with the Ottoman Empire: they were political allies during the Crimean War; for several decades, British creditors ran the Ottoman economy via Ottoman Public Debt Administration; many Ottoman cultural institutions, such as the Imperial Museum, were modeled after their British counterparts. Given this interconnected history, this essay argues that the Ottoman Empire could provide a rich field of inquiry for the Victorian studies as the field tries to “undiscipline” itself.

This keyword essay establishes the significance of international law for the study of Victorian globalization. The history of international law has not really been registered yet by scholars in Victorian studies, but we might obtain a number of dividends by remedying that deficit.

Sugar is in the bloodstream of our modern world. We crave it as a treat and fear it as an increasingly urgent health risk. Although sugar had been used for centuries in small quantities as a spice, a medicine, and a foodstuff, it was only in the nineteenth century that it became the omnipresent, mass-produced, habit-forming, and health-impacting commodity we recognize today. This article charts the staggering increase in sugar production in the Victorian period—from 572,000 tons in 1830 to 6.1 million tons by 1890—to suggest that sugar, and acts of consuming it, acquired figurative and culturally contingent meanings that Victorian writers could use to represent and respond to some of the most pressing cultural questions of their day. For scholars of the nineteenth century, sugar affords us a lens for viewing Victorian cultural change and for interrogating the stories that Britain continues to tell itself today about the physical, economic, and moral health of the nation.

Informal empire is less a settled concept than a vexing category. Scholars disagree on the complicity of individuals, the extent of government oversight, and even whether informal empire is in fact imperial. I argue that informal empire is best approached through the lens of paradox. It is a system with no centralized authority yet which gave Britain a powerful role in the formation of Latin America. It relied on the continuing independence of Latin American nations and yet compromised their sovereignty. It often fostered the economic progress of the new nations and yet strangled their development. It grew out of the labor of thousands of individual migrants and travelers, and yet many of these people had no sense that they were involved in something called empire. What informal empire means is still very much up for debate. However, what it does for scholars of the nineteenth century is quite clear: it calls us to the study of imperialism in new ways, asking us to expand our gaze beyond the usual sites, to more openly conceptualize power relations, and—using all the particular powers of literary study we possess—to be attuned to the strangeness and paradox of imperialism.

This essay argues that “experience” is an essential keyword for Victorian studies. The concept spiked in interest in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Causes for this spike include the division of humanistic knowledge into the modern disciplines, and the pressure that idealist philosophy put on British empiricist thought. Shadworth Hodgson's 1898 The Metaphysic of Experience is featured both as a text exemplifying the paradoxes of Victorian experience-talk and as an invitation to further study.

Raymond Williams influentially claimed that the history of the English novel could be organized through the problem of the “knowable community.” This keyword entry rehearses, clarifies, and extends the idea of the “knowable” in Williams's theory of the novel. I argue that the dialectical (neither entirely subjective nor entirely objective) dimension of the concept has been overlooked, with attendant consequences for the important transition between George Eliot and Thomas Hardy in Williams's account.

In Studies in the History of the Renaissance (1873), Walter Pater asks if “modern art” can “represent men and women in these bewildering toils so as to give the spirit at least an equivalent for the sense of freedom?” I discuss how the notions of both subjective and aesthetic autonomy that Pater refers to here have gotten a bad rap for the past century or so for helping facilitate the liberal, capitalist, and imperialist projects of the nineteenth century. I then argue, however, that the version of autonomy described in the writings of Pater and other Victorian aesthetes and decadents is actually quite different from the bourgeois, Enlightenment notion of sovereign subjectivity that has been rightfully critiqued by postmodernists and poststructuralists. I end by suggesting that aestheticist and decadent versions of autonomy, which affirm humanity's capacity to unmake and remake ourselves and our society via the aesthetic, might serve as a resource for countering the racist Western myth Sylvia Wynter refers to as “biocentricity”: the notion that humankind,and thus the hierarchies that justify the uneven distributions of power, is wholly and intractably in thrall to natural laws beyond our control.

How much time has passed since the publication of VLC’s Keywords issue five years ago? This is not a trick question. Students of nineteenth-century British literature and culture are primed to see five years as a long time (“with the length of five long summers”), and events at both national and global scales have encouraged a widespread sense that 2018 is located less in the recent past than on the far side of a divide—in the Before Times. On the other hand, the long view encouraged by a scholarly focus on a period that ended over a century ago may see little or no meaningful time as having passed between 2018 and 2023. Moreover, on a more quotidian level, the very pace of scholarship—the amount of time it typically takes to conceive, research, write, and publish work, even for those without a Casaubonian bone in their bodies—can make five years seem like no time at all (“five summers that flew by,” as Wordsworth might have put it had he been on an academic calendar).

The trope of critical reading as diagnosis draws on health humanities scholarship to enable responsive, collaborative readings that pair attention to form (symptoms and signs) with a meticulous address to how author, publisher, text, and reader co-create diverse strands of meaning within different settings. This model can assess how most Victorian texts feature a spectrum of overlapping literary genres, and how these genres are formed in the working partnerships that texts and readers create across changing contexts. The text itself becomes not an inert object to be cataloged but a living, changing organism. Diagnostic reading can address both the ostensible meanings of a passage and other possibilities latent within the text or new meanings that arise as texts circulate to new audiences. It also insists that texts and readers are both embodied, thus bridging literary scholarship and print culture studies by reminding us that readers know texts as cognitive, affective, and physical interlocutors. Medical diagnosis usefully addresses not just disease but many human conformations, and—as with readers and texts—it opens up a relationship between caregiver and patient that evolves as conditions change. Overall, the diagnostic model encourages a more versatile and inclusive understanding of scholarly work.

This keywords entry proposes that critical infrastructure studies allows us to better understand the cultural lives of nineteenth-century theatrical repertoires and asks: How would conceptualizing theatrical repertoire as an imaginative infrastructure help us understand its cultural legacies in our own day? Nineteenth-century theatrical repertoires functioned in analogous ways to material-technical infrastructure: on one hand, providing routine and taken-for-granted conditions of performance; on the other, encoding asymmetric patterns of belonging and inclusion, proximity and distance, that we see reinforced by infrastructure. Repertoire is thus recast as a means of actively communicating and managing meaning on an enormous scale.

Anglo-American socialism has reached a curious impasse. Levels of economic inequality not seen since the nineteenth century would lead one to anticipate an upsurge in socialist affiliation and activism. Nevertheless, socialism has stagnated as a political force. This essay argues that, as a collectivist ideology, socialism demands a degree of communal identification that modern individuals find uncomfortable, even threatening, to the integrity of the self. Investigating this discomfort leads me to argue that, while socialism is not a religion (pace the claim of Gareth Stedman Jones), it nonetheless flourishes in eras of spiritual and societal foment. In such periods, communal effervescence softens the boundaries of the self, rendering collectivist ideologies like socialism more intuitive and appealing. Given desacralizing trends in Anglo-America, a contemporary socialist revival would seem unlikely. Consequently, I argue that it is time for progressives to embrace, rather than critique, the strong sense of individual autonomy and deep subjectivity that characterizes bourgeois individualism. The Victorian socialist canon provides many resources for a reconciliation of individualism and collectivism, which I illustrate via reference to H. G. Wells, John Stuart Mill, and Oscar Wilde.

Paper represents a potent but underexplored keyword for Victorian studies today. Not only is it the unacknowledged techno-material a priori of Victorian studies itself, but its histories also offer material connections that link literary texts, bureaucracy, and consumer culture to global ecologies and resource extraction.

This essay focuses on the proliferation of diverse spiritualities in Victorian Britain in the second half of the nineteenth century, including Theosophy, neopaganism, spiritualism, and emerging occult practices. It makes the case that this proliferation of spiritual thought emerged not in opposition to, but rather in harmony with, the ascendancy of scientific naturalist frameworks in the wake of Darwinism, and that the flexibility of “spirituality” as a concept serves a crucial function for understanding this late Victorian religious landscape. As a (very brief) case study, it examines the fusion of the spiritual and scientific in Marie Corelli's late Victorian bestseller, A Romance of Two Worlds (1886). Her work, I suggest, highlights the key role of new popular genres of speculative fiction in navigating the boundaries between spirit and matter at the fin de siècle.

This article takes up the social production of race in nineteenth-century India through picaresque fiction. Through readings of Rudyard Kipling, Dion Boucicault, and W. M. Thackeray, it shows how picaresque form served as a specific mechanism of racial stabilization, a means of producing a consciously stopgap racial binary through the intervention of a third, triangulating racial term: Irishness. Understanding the triangular structure of whiteness’ “shapeshifting” brings into sharper relief the connections between three important scholarly foci regarding race in India: the ambiguous and fluid boundaries of Anglo-Indian whiteness, the belated assignment of “blackness” to native Indian populations, and the constant resignifications of Irish identity that demographic overrepresentation in India entailed. The case study of the picaresque reveals an imperialist culture more strategic and more self-aware about its own racial construction than is sometimes supposed; the genre served as a key means by which nonmetropolitan colonialist Victorians theorized and constructed their own relation to whiteness.