This article aims to test the limits of current assessments of the New Negro renaissance, which tend to emphasize either its investment in cultural nationalism or its Pan-African focus, by exploring the international contours of The Crisis under Du Bois’s editorship. Recent analysis of The Crisis has paid considerable attention to the productive juxtaposition of what Anne Carroll has termed “protest and affirmation,” whereby Du Bois positioned reports on racial violence next to accounts of African American achievements in order to prompt acknowledgement of the realities of racism. But such criticism has focussed almost exclusively upon Du Bois’s treatment of American issues, overlooking his sustained interest in international cultural and political concerns. Focussing on the editorial framing of Indian nationalism, this article contends that the common distinctions drawn between internationalism and nationalism are too simplistic to accommodate The Crisis's formulation of cultural nationalism by way of internationalism. Indeed, scrutiny of the magazine's formal texture, which stages dynamic interplay between poetry, short fiction, investigative journalism, photography, readers' letters and political cartoons, reveals tensions that animate Du Bois's project, not least his dependence upon colonialist ways of seeing and a narrative of racial unity across the African diaspora that serves to elide cultural and historical specificity.

This special issue advances the first comprehensive account of “oil culture,” the broad field of cultural representations and symbolic forms that have taken shape around the fugacious material of oil in the 150 years since the inception of the US petroleum industry. Exploring the cultural life of oil from a variety of methodological perspectives, the essays in this special issue seek to elucidate the complex role that imaginative representations have played in establishing and contesting oil's status as the primary commodity underpinning modern economic expansion and a fundamental ontological construct shaping social and political life in the United States and beyond. By addressing the rise of oil as a cultural problem, this issue aims to fill a significant gap in oil scholarship and to intervene in what has become an epochal and highly charged moment in the history of petro-capitalism.

Most criticism of Nathaniel Hawthorne's Novel The Marble Faun has focussed on its many images of domestic containment, its supposed argument in favor of Christian idealism, as well as Hawthorne's apparent “castration” of the American sculptor Kenyon – just another in a long list of the author's male protagonists who succumb to a mixture of self-doubt (Dimmesdale, in The Scarlet Letter), narcissism (Coverdale, in The Blithedale Romance), and the allure of the chaste virgin (Holgrave, in The House of the Seven Gables). This essay, however, argues that Miriam, the novel's chief female protagonist, actually completes a complicated “liberation” from the proscriptions (as Hawthorne envisioned them) of her gender, enacted by her embrace of multiple, ancient, and organic symbols. Through a simultaneous analysis of the American music icons Madonna and Lady Gaga, we find that Hawthorne engages a complex set of ideational forces – misogyny, Catholicism, and female eros – as Miriam emerges, like these famous pop stars, as an independent artist, a position that not one of the author's male protagomists is able to attain. In this sense, Miriam may be reconsidered Hawthorne's internationalized Hester, or, more aptly, his mature Pearl.

The rise of support for national parks in the United States after 1900 occurred amid a transnational circulation of information on the apparent destruction of – or imminent threat to – nature on a global level. Arguments for creating and protecting national parks included preservation of “wild” areas, proto-ecological ideas, and social reformist and economic utilitarian pressures during the Progressive Era. Advocacy for park protection as it developed to 1916 reflected this complex cluster of ideas rather than any clearly articulated concept of wilderness. It was influenced by international sensibilities on the social construction of nature and its putative preservation at the moment of industrialization in Europe and the American Northeast, the intrusion of mechanization into the countryside and, outside the metropolitan centres of the Euro-American world, high imperialism that exposed widespread destruction of nature in Europe's colonies. The case of the American Scenic and Historic Preservation Society (ASHPS), an elite organization that combined national park, public-park and human-heritage advocacy in a continuum of values, is examined as a transnational conduit for and shaper of these socially constructed ideas in the United States, and as a neglected aspect of Progressive Era development of national parks.

In opposition to energy historian Vaclav Smil, who argues that “timeless literature … show[s] no correlation with advances in energy consumption,” this essay makes the general claim that energy history is significantly entwined with cultural history. Energy history is in fact entwined with changing cultural conceptualizations and representations of psyche, body, society, and environment; it is correlated not just with changing material cultures, but with symbolic cultures as well. To see this, the essay argues, one must conceptualize energy history in terms of a succession of energy systems – systems that are constituted by sociocultural, economic, environmental, and technological relationships. The essay's specific argument then traces the effects on symbolic culture, especially literature, of the nineteenth – and twentieth-century shift from coal capitalism to oil–electric capitalism. It starts by looking at the features of early oil extraction culture, from Drake's 1859 oil strike in Titusville, Pennsylvania to Upton Sinclair's novel Oil!, and examines how oil–electric capitalism develops and defines itself culturally against the previous era of coal capitalism. Then the essay considers how the consolidation of the oil–electric capitalist system is significantly related to the emergence of modernist culture, affecting the production of both popular culture and high art. By the end of the twentieth century, a new phase in oil–electric capitalism emerges with the expansion of the postwar petrochemical industry, the dramatic expansion of environmental crisis discourse in the 1960s and 1970s, and the return of peak-oil discourse to the mainstream in the last decade. The essay examines how the material features of oil, as well as its dominant uses as luminant, motor fuel, lubricant, and eventually petrochemical feedstock, take on cultural importance. Exemplifying both the cultural innovations and reinventions of oil capitalism from the extraction era to the consolidation era and the post-World War II period, the essay focusses throughout on the two recurring motifs, exuberance and catastrophe, as they play out in a wide range of literary texts and popular enthusiasms.

Ralph Waldo Emerson's delivery of his essay “England” at Manhattan’s Clinton Hall on 22 January 1850 was one of the highest-profile of his performance career. He had recently returned from his triumphant British speaking tour with a radically revised view of transatlantic relations. In a New York still in shock from the Anglophobic urban riots of the previous winter, media observers were prepared to find a great deal of symbolism in both Emerson's new message and his idiosyncratic style of performance. This essay provides a detailed account of the context, delivery and conflicting newspaper readings of this Emerson appearance. Considering the lecture circuit as part of broader performance culture and debates over Anglo-American physicality and manners, it reveals how the press seized on both the “England” talk itself and aspects of Emerson's lecturing style as a means of shoring up civic order and Anglo-American kinship. I argue for a reexamination of the textual interchanges of nineteenth-century oratorical culture, and demonstrate how lecture reports reconnect us to forgotten means of listening through texts and discursive contests over the meaning of public speech.

This paper involves a close reading of Herman Melville's poem “On the Photograph of a Corps Commander,” published in Melville's 1866 collection Battle-Pieces. Realizing that Melville's poem is one of the first descriptions (ekphrases) of a photograph in verse, the paper explores how Melville's poem uses physiognomy to describe the subject of the photograph: an American Civil War general, who is only identified as “the Corps Commander.” In this way, Melville's poem reflects the nineteenth-century philosophical and popular notions of photography. These notions came to regard photography as a Neoplatonic medium capable of recording and revealing the inner character of its subjects. Relying on these conceptions of photography, Melville's poem describes the photograph of the Corps Commander as having the power to reveal the Platonic absolute of American masculinity, and thus it comes to hail the photograph as a semi-sacred image that has the power to draw Anglo-Saxon American men into a common brotherhood.

Oil is often thought of as a sole commodity with singular powers to shape geopolitics, economic development, and environmental change. Yet the complex hydrocarbon assemblage of crude oil is only commodified through the refining process, which produces a multiplicity of products (e.g. gasoline, heating oil, petrochemicals). In this paper, I argue that petroleum products provide the supplementary materiality for a neoliberal cultural politics of “life.” In the first section, drawing from Gramsci and Foucault, I argue that the popular basis of neoliberal hegemony is rooted in a cultural politics of “entrepreneurial life” that accompanied increasing suburbanization, single-family homeownership and widespread automobility in the post-World War II United States. By the 1970s, masses of white suburban homeowners buttressed the “rightward turn” in American politics based around an “ideology of hostile privatism” and the demonization of taxes and wealth redistribution. In the next section, I suggest that this geography of life is rooted in the history of refineries and their search for multiple marketable outlets for petroleum by-products. Increasingly, the petroleum industry sought to actively remind the public that their lives were saturated with petroleum products. In the last section, I examine a film produced by the American Petroleum Institute titled Fuel-Less, a parody of the film Clueless. In the film, the main character, Crystal, is forced to discover what her life would be like without petroleum products. Crystal is taken to an oil well and refinery to learn about how crude oil becomes the multiple products she uses in her life. As she learns to appreciate oil, she develops a neoliberal form of environmental responsibility focussed upon volunteerist actions like recycling. The overall lesson is both the unavoidability of oil in everyday life and that privatized actors (consumers and capital) can all “pitch in” to create a sustainable future.

American spiritualism and the oil industry developed around the same time and in relatively close geographic proximity. Both nineteenth-century phenomena were invested in a belief in the unseen, whether in the form of deceased loved ones or of underground oil reserves. Spiritualists such as Abraham James turned to the oil industry because of its lucrative financial opportunities and because of its potential to demonstrate the “practical” applications of spiritualism and Harmonial philosophy. Spiritualism offered an alternative to evangelical Christian and classical republican conceptions of industry, and a vibrant communication network through which events in the oil fields could be related to the general public. Reading accounts of James's work as an “oil wizard” reveals the industrial aspirations of spiritualism and the psychometric aspects of the oil industry, both of which have been largely erased in twentieth-century historiography. Spiritualist publications, newspapers, technical manuals, and popular accounts of the oil industry throughout the nineteenth century produced James as a new kind of male medium, capable of meeting the exigencies of the oil fields. He proved infinitely reproducible as an agent of “practical spiritualism” and was discussed alongside the other drillers, operators, laborers, teamsters, and investors at work in the oil region. As petroleum geology began to establish itself as a discipline in the early twentieth century, accounts of the early oil industry reframed James, along with other practitioners of divination, as an amusing, if somewhat embarrassing, anomaly in an attempt to distinguish the modern “scientific” oil industry from its chaotic and superstitious beginnings. While later historians have offered a more sympathetic reading of divination's role in the oil fields, James and his Harmonial wells have largely disappeared from the historical record. Yet, despite scientific innovation and revisionist history, the oil industry still bears traces of its psychometric past and must contend with the ways in which its future is dependent on successfully channeling the unseen.

Writing on such diverse works as Shakespeare's King Lear, Wallace Stevens's “Sunday Morning” and Vincente Minnelli's The Bandwagon, Stanley Cavell is a philosopher consistently moved to philosophize in the realm of the aesthetic. Cavell invokes Stevens, particularly, at moments of his oeuvre both casual and constructive. In a commemorative address of the “Pontigny-en-Amérique” encounters at Mount Holyoke College in 2006, Cavell takes Stevens as his direct subject. During the original Pontigny colloquia, held during the wartime summers of 1942–44, some of the leading European figures in the arts and sciences (among them Hannah Arendt and Claude Lévi-Strauss) gathered at Mount Holyoke with their American peers (Stevens, John Peale Bishop and Marianne Moore) for conversations about the future of human civilization and the place of philosophy in a precarious world. Stevens suggested at the Pontigny meeting that the philosopher, compared unfavourably to the poet, “fails to discover.” As it is precisely Cavell's acknowledgement of the accidental or the unexpected as displaced from philosophy that draws him to the writings of Stevens, the Mount Holyoke encounters promise an illuminating dialogue between the two. The affinity between such central champions of the poetic dimension of American philosophy is sometimes obvious, more times in question.