New OUPblog Posts

October 9, 2017

Three new OUPblog posts by Oxford Bibliographies contributors are now available:

The independence of Anne Bradstreet

"When the eighteen year old Anne Bradstreet first arrived in the New World in 1630, she confessed that “her heart rose.” She had made the voyage on the Arbella from England to Salem, Massachusetts with her extended family as part of the Puritan “Errand into the Wilderness.” But now, instead of a life of comfort and considerable luxury on the Earl of Lincoln’s estate, where her father had been Manager and her husband had been his assistant, she had to contend with muddy paths instead of streets and a cramped house with no privacy. No longer could Anne spend leisurely hours reading such classic authors as Virgil, Homer, and Ovid as well as more contemporary writers like Spenser, Sidney, and Milton in the Earl’s grand library; instead, she had a household to manage for her extended family, which would later include the eight children born to her and Simon Bradstreet in rapid succession. [...]"
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Boredom's push

"'I painted because I was bored.' G.W. Bush There are crimes of passion, those of rage and of love. And then, there are crimes of boredom. Arson, animal abuse, and murder have all been committed in the name of boredom. 'It is very curious,' the nineteenth century Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once noted, 'that boredom, which itself has such a calm and sedate nature, can have such a capacity to initiate motion.' Kierkegaard’s observation was remarkably prescient. [...]"
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Singing resistance on the border

"At an early age, Américo Paredes was preoccupied with the inexorable passing of time, which would leave an imprint in his academic career. At twenty-three, he wrote: 'And the seconds tick away into hours, the hours into years. Time glides by like a fox, scarcely seeming to move, yet traveling at a lightning pace…. I cannot withhold the march of time. I cannot live forever. I know that every moment I am living, I am also dying. I know that I shall pass from the world as a boat passes over the waters, scarcely stirring the waves by its passing. And with these thoughts do but hasten my end. And I am standing still.' [...]"
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