This volume offers a unique glimpse into a European household in 18th century India. Claude Martin was an entrepreneurial Frenchman who settled in Lucknow, capital of the rich Muslim state of Awadh (Oudh). The book presents the inventory of his houses here for the first time, together with the catalogue of books from his library. It gathers together six experts to examine Martin’s numerous possessions, and discuss his paintings, silverware, jewellery, textiles, weapons, carriages, boats and hot air balloons. His collection of scientific items imported from the best European instrument makers reveals his practical experiments with electricity and astronomy, while his buildings exploited hydraulic engineering to keep them cool. This book will appeal to readers fascinated by the introduction of Enlightenment ideas into post-Mughal India and the rise of a ‘common soldier’ to the highest ranks of the East India Company. Childless himself, Martin left money to found La Martinière schools in India and France.

A provocative case that “failed states” along the periphery of today’s international system are the intended result of nineteenth-century colonial design. From the Afghan frontier with British India to the pampas of Argentina to the deserts of Arizona, nineteenth-century empires drew borders with an eye toward placing indigenous people just on the edge of the interior. They were too nomadic and communal to incorporate in the state, yet their labor was too valuable to displace entirely. Benjamin Hopkins argues that empires sought to keep the “savage” just close enough to take advantage of, with lasting ramifications for the global nation-state order. Hopkins theorizes and explores frontier governmentality, a distinctive kind of administrative rule that spread from empire to empire. Colonial powers did not just create ad hoc methods or alight independently on similar techniques of domination: they learned from each other. Although the indigenous peoples inhabiting newly conquered and demarcated spaces were subjugated in a variety of ways, Ruling the Savage Periphery isolates continuities across regimes and locates the patterns of transmission that made frontier governmentality a world-spanning phenomenon. Today, the supposedly failed states along the margins of the international system—states riven by terrorism and violence—are not dysfunctional anomalies. Rather, they work as imperial statecraft intended, harboring the outsiders whom stable states simultaneously encapsulate and exploit. “Civilization” continues to deny responsibility for border dwellers while keeping them close enough to work, buy goods across state lines, and justify national-security agendas. The present global order is thus the tragic legacy of a colonial design, sustaining frontier governmentality and its objectives for a new age.

Empire Building is a new account of the East India Company’s impact on India, focussing on how it changed the sub-continent’s built environment in the context of defence, urbanisation, and infrastructural development. Rosie Llewellyn-Jones examines these initiatives through a lens of ‘political building’ (using Indian contractors and labourers). Railways, docks, municipal buildings, freemasons’ lodges, hotels, race-courses, barracks, cemeteries, statues, canals–everything the British erected made a political statement, even if unconsciously; hence this book is concerned less with architectural styles, more with subtle infiltration into the minds of those who saw and used these structures. It assesses, in turn, Indian responses to the changing landscape. Indians often reacted favourably to new manufacturing technologies from Britain, like minting and gunpowder, while the British learnt from and adapted local methods. From military engineers and cartography to imported raw metals and steam power, Llewellyn-Jones considers the social and environmental changes wrought by colonialism. This period was marked by a shift from formerly private, Indian-controlled functions, like education, entertainment, trading and healing, to British public institutions like universities, theatres, chambers of commerce and hospitals. Stepping aside from ongoing colonialism debates, this is a fascinating account of India’s physical transformation during the Company period.

This book brings to light an extraordinary satiric epic on Britain’s empire, one suppressed right after its publication in 1828. Tom Raw, the Griffin, written and illustrated by the Romantic artist Charles D’Oyly, is vital, engaging, morally earnest, and trenchant in its critique—and wickedly funny in its observations and depictions of British India. Known in art circles for his Indian landscapes, D’Oyly was born in Bengal; he returned there from England at age 16 to serve in increasingly titular posts in the occupying government; by 1818, he was a full-time artist in Patna. In his story of a young English cadet serving his country in India, D’Oyly writes and draws as an outsider to Britain’s imperial project abroad—but with the knowledge of an insider. His epic poem traces the political and cultural fault lines of Britain’s nascent empire. Like Lord Byron’s Don Juan (1819-24), Tom Raw is exuberantly comic and terrifyingly serious in its prescience on the prospects of nineteenth-century Britain and future world empires. Tom Raw has a real, original place in the literature, art and culture of its age, and is a key entity in the study of global Romanticism.