Henry Fuseli's work has always been the subject of speculation, from the rumours of his opium addiction to modern views of him as an exponent of Neoclassicism. This text offers an interpretation of the artist.

In this volume, Pop examines how art of the mid 1700s and early 1800s - inspired by translations of Greek tragedy - reveals a view of modern Europe attempting to recognize its own historical status as one culture among many. He analyses this broad view of culture through the lens of Anglo-Swiss artist Henry Fuseli's life and work.

Innovative, alternative account of romanticism, exploring how art and science together contested the evidentiary authority of the human body.

Published in connection with an exhibition held at Kunsthaus Zeurich Oct. 14, 2005-Jan. 8, 2006.

Brief in the way a razor’s slice is brief, remarkable essays by a peerless stylist New Directions is proud to present Fleur Jaeggy’s strange and mesmerizing essays about the writers Thomas De Quincey, John Keats, and Marcel Schwob. A renowned stylist of hyper-brevity in fiction, Fleur Jaeggy proves herself an even more concise master of the essay form, albeit in a most peculiar and lapidary poetic vein. Of De Quincey’s early nineteenth-century world we hear of the habits of writers: Charles Lamb “spoke of ‘Lilliputian rabbits’ when eating frog fricassse”; Henry Fuseli “ate a diet of raw meat in order to obtain splendid dreams”; “Hazlitt was perceptive about musculature and boxers”; and “Wordsworth used a buttery knife to cut the pages of a first-edition Burke.” In a book of “blue devils” and night visions, the Keats essay opens: “In 1803, the guillotine was a common child’s toy.” And poor Schwob’s end comes as he feels “like a ‘dog cut open alive’”: “His face colored slightly, turning into a mask of gold. His eyes stayed open imperiously. No one could shut his eyelids. The room smoked of grief.” Fleur Jaeggy’s essays—or are they prose poems?—smoke of necessity: the pages are on fire.