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This book reconstructs a pivotal era in the history of affect and emotion, delving into an archive of nineteenth-century disgust to show how this negative emotional response came to play an outsized, volatile part in the emergence of modern British society. Attending to the emotion's socially productive role, the book highlights concrete scenes of Victorian disgust, from sewer tunnels and courtrooms to operating tables and alleyways. The book focuses on a diverse set of nineteenth-century writers and thinkers whose works reflect on the shifting, unstable meaning of disgust across the period. It elaborates this cultural history of Victorian disgust in specific domains of British society, ranging from the construction of London's sewer system, the birth of modern obscenity law, and the development of the conventions of literary realism to the emergence of urban sociology, the rise of new scientific theories of instinct, and the techniques of colonial administration developed during the Indian Rebellion of 1857. By bringing to light disgust's role as a public passion, the book reveals significant new connections among these apparently disconnected forms of social control, knowledge production, and infrastructural development.

From the teeming streets of Dickens's London to the households of domestic fiction, nineteenth-century British writers constructed worlds crammed beyond capacity with human life. This book contends that rather than simply reflecting demographic growth, such pervasive literary crowding contributed to a seismic shift in British political thought. The book shows how the nineteenth-century novel, in particular, claimed a new cultural role as it took on the task of narrating human aggregation at a moment when the Malthusian specter of surplus population suddenly and quite unexpectedly became a central premise of modern politics. In readings of novels by Mary Shelley, Elizabeth Gaskell, Charles Dickens, Mary Braddon, Thomas Hardy, and Joseph Conrad that link fiction and biopolitics, the book brings the crowds that pervade nineteenth-century fiction into the foreground. In so doing, it transforms the subject and political stakes of the Victorian novel, dislodging the longstanding idea that its central category is the individual by demonstrating how fiction is altered by its emerging concern with population. By overpopulating narrative space and imagining the human species perpetually in excess of the existing social order, the book shows, fiction made it necessary to radically reimagine life in the aggregate.

This book unravels contradictions embedded in the racist and imperialist ideology of the British Empire. For many Victorians, the idea of taming cannibals or civilizing savages was oxymoronic: civilization was a goal that the non-white peoples of the world could not attain or, at best, could only approximate, yet the “civilizing mission” was viewed as the ultimate justification for imperialism. Similarly, the supposedly unshakeable certainty of Anglo-Saxon racial superiority was routinely undercut by widespread fears about racial degeneration through contact with “lesser” races or concerns that Anglo-Saxons might be superseded by something superior—an even “fitter” or “higher” race or species. This book traces the development of those fears through close readings of a wide range of texts—including Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, Fiji and the Fijians by Thomas Williams, Daily Life and Origin of the Tasmanians by James Bonwick, The Descent of Man by Charles Darwin, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, Culture and Anarchy by Matthew Arnold, She by H. Rider Haggard, and The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells. Throughout, the book combines the study of literature with sociopolitical history and postcolonial theory in novel ways.