National consolidation and romantic novels go hand in hand in Latin America. Foundational Fictions shows how 19th century patriotism and heterosexual passion historically depend on one another to engender productive citizens.

In this lively, provocative collection, some of Australia's leading historians - and a Miles Franklin shortlisted historical novelist - challenge established myths, narratives and 'beautiful lies' about South Australia's past. Some are unmasked as false stories that mask brutal realities, like colonial violence - while others are revealed as simplistic versions of more complex truths. 'Each generation writes history that speaks to its own interests and concerns,' write historians Paul Ashton and Anna Clark. In Foundational Fictions in South Australian History, which grew out of a series of public lectures at the University of Adelaide, an impressive range of contributors suggest different ways in which familiar narratives of South Australia can be interpreted. These essays tap into wider debates, too, about the nature and purpose of history - and the 'history wars' first flamed by John Howard. Stuart Macintyre highlights South Australia's central role in several national events. Humphrey McQueen questions the origins and influence of the money behind South Australia's so-called progressive founding. Lucy Treloar suggests historians can learn from novelists when it comes to understanding the past. Steven Anderson argues that Don Dunstan's achievement in abolishing capital punishment owed much to a historical movement. And Carolyn Collins highlights the role of anti-conscription group Save Our Sons (SOS) in not just ending the Vietnam War, but broadening the appeal of the anti-war movement.

Films are integral to national imagination. Promotional publicity markets “domestic films” not only as entertaining, exciting, or moving, but also as topical and relevant in different ways. Reviewers assess new films with reference to other films and cultural products as well as social and political issues. Through such interpretive framings by contemporaries and later generations, popular cinema is embedded both in national imagination and endless intertextual and intermedial frameworks. Moreover, films themselves become signs to be cited and recycled as illustrations of cultural, social, and political history as well as national mentality. In the age of television, “old films” continue to live as history and memory. In Performative Histories, Foundational Fictions, Anu Koivunen analyzes the historicity as well as the intertextuality and intermediality of film reception by focusing on a cycle of Finnish family melodrama and its key role in thinking about gender, sexuality, nation, and history. Close-reading posters, advertisements, publicity-stills, trailers, review journalism, and critical commentary, she demonstrates how The Women of Niskavuori (1938 and 1958), Loviisa (1946), Heta Niskavuori (1952), Aarne Niskavuori (1954), Niskavuori Fights (1957), and Niskavuori (1984) have operated as sites for imagining “our agrarian past”, our Heimat and heritage as well as “the strong Finnish woman” or “the weak man in crisis”. Based on extensive empirical research, Koivunen argues that the Niskavuori films have mobilized readings in terms of history and memory, feminist nationalism and men’s movement, left-wing allegories and right-wing morality as well as realism and melodrama. Through processes of citation, repetition, and re-cycling the films have acquired not only a heterogeneous and contradictory interpretive legacy, but also an affective force.

This book applies critical concepts developed within postcolonial theory to American texts written between the national emergence of the United States and the Civil War.

A cultural history of utopian writing in early modern England, Founding Fictions traces the development of the genre from the publication of Thomas More's Utopia (1516) through Aphra Behn's Oroonoko (1688). Amy Boesky sees utopian literature rising alongside new social institutions that helped shape the modern English nation. While utopian fiction explicitly advocates a reorganization of human activity, which appears liberal or progressive, utopias represent reform in self-critical or qualitative ways. Early modern utopias, Boesky demonstrates, are less blueprints for reform than they are challenges to the very possibility of improvement. After an initial discussion of More's Utopia, Boesky devotes subsequent chapters to Francis Bacon's New Atlantis, the Civil War Utopias of Gabriel Plattes, Samuel Gott, and Gerrard Winstanley, Margaret Cavendish's Blazing-world, and Henry Neville's Isle of Pines. Relating the English public school to More's Utopia, and early modern laboratories to Bacon's New Atlantis, Boesky shows how utopists explored the formation of cultural identity through new institutional models. Utopias of the 1640s and 1650s are read against new emphasis on work as the panacea for social ills; Cavendish's Blazing-world is seen as reproducing and reassessing restoration centers of authority in the court and theater; and finally, Neville's Isle of Pines and Behn's Oroonoko are read as interrogating the authorities of the English colony. Despite widely divergent backgrounds, says Boesky, these utopists shared a sense that national identity was shaped less by individuals than by institutions, which they praise for producing trained and trainable citizens instilled with the values of the modern state: obedience, discipline, and order. While the utopia tells its story partly to justify the goals of colonialism and to enforce differences in class, gender, and race, it also tells a concurrent and less stable story that criticizes these ventures and exposes their limitations.

Reading novels by contemporary women in the Caribbean dyaspora alongside and against law, history and anthropology, the book argues that Caribbean women's sexuality has been mobilized for various imperialist and nationalist projects from the nineteenth century to present.

Nineteenth-century Japanese literary discourse and narrative developed a striking preoccupation with ninjō—literally “human emotion,” but often used in reference to amorous feeling and erotic desire. For many writers and critics, fiction’s capacity to foster both licentiousness and didactic values stood out as a crucial source of ambivalence. Simultaneously capable of inspiring exemplary behavior and a dangerous force transgressing social norms, ninjō became a focal point for debates about the role of the novel and a key motor propelling narrative plots. In Licentious Fictions, Daniel Poch investigates the significance of ninjō in defining the literary modernity of nineteenth-century Japan. He explores how cultural anxieties about the power of literature in mediating emotions and desire shaped Japanese narrative from the late Edo through the Meiji period. Poch argues that the Meiji novel, instead of superseding earlier discourses and narrative practices surrounding ninjō, complicated them by integrating them into new cultural and literary concepts. He offers close readings of a broad array of late Edo- and Meiji-period narrative and critical sources, examining how they shed light on the great intensification of the concern surrounding ninjō. In addition to proposing a new theoretical outlook on emotion, Licentious Fictions challenges the divide between early modern and modern Japanese literary studies by conceptualizing the nineteenth century as a continuous literary-historical space.