This chapter considers James Joyce’s paradigmatic modernist epic, Ulysses (1922), reading its meticulous reconstruction of 1904 Dublin as a nostalgic return to the author’s homeland and childhood. While scholars have recently recognized the role of nostalgia in Joyce’s work, they have overlooked its significance to the form and content of Ulysses. The text privileges personal experience of a place and culture over linear ideas of national heritage; in so doing, it disrupts xenophobic accounts of Irish identity founded on racial purity. Its juxtaposition of everyday experience with ancient epic sidesteps an exclusionary idea of heritage while retaining the literary resonance of mythic parallels. In other words, it rejects an unhealthy obsession with the past through its use of nostalgia.

This introductory chapter provides a brief overview of the book layout. It contextualises the topic historically and defines the key terms of the debate. It also illustrates key issues, with illustrative examples of how nationalism permeates different spheres of social, political, economic, and cultural life.

Surveying a range of literary texts written in the vernacular languages of medieval Britain, this chapter is concerned with the ways in which the peoples of Ireland, Scotland, and Wales defined themselves in opposition to the dominant state power of England. Countering the Latin historical tradition which positioned British history as English history, writers working in Irish, Scots, Scottish Gaelic, and Welsh constructed origin myths and literary traditions that worked to build local communities and regional identities. Though the territories clustered around England were far from united in their political structures, they came together as peoples to resist the imperial ambitions of the English state.

In an era steeped in national stereotypes that bled into slanders and hatred, the English were notorious in later medieval Europe for three things: drunkenness, bearing a tail and killing their kings. But it is with the implications of another alleged propensity – for waging wars of conquest that sought to turn neighbours into subjects – that this chapter is largely concerned. By the later Middle Ages, the bellicose reputation of England’s kings reverberated across Christendom. Jean Froissart (d. c. 1405), the chronicler of chivalry who visited the court of Edward III, noted that, because of their great conquests, the English were ‘always more inclined to war than peace’.

The ninth chapter expands the analysis to Scotland and Ireland; in both kingdoms, wardship was instrumental in the disintegration of royal power. In Scotland, Charles I’s efforts to re-write the land law and extend his rights to wardships via an Act of Revocation (1633) was considered to be ‘the ground stone of all the mischeiffe that folloued after’ (sic), an arch reference to the rebellion that began in Scotland in 1638. In Ireland, wardship and the entire land law were deployed as a means of religious conversion. Wardship was thus an integral component of the bitter religious conflict that erupted in 1641. It was these rebellions which ultimately precipitated the English Civil War, that offered Parliament the opportunity to finally abolish the feudal tenures in 1646, an abolition confirmed at the Restoration of the Crown in 1660.

The chapter explores contrasting approaches to population policy and family planning in Yugoslavia, the Republic of Ireland, the United States, and India, focusing on the period from the 1950s to the 1980s. It discusses how Yugoslavia shifted toward supporting global population control policies in stark contrast to other Communist countries, while Ireland, a predominantly Catholic country, maintained strict anti-contraception laws. The United States evolved from reluctance to active involvement in global birth control programs to widespread financial support, and India transitioned to coercive sterilization policies during the state of emergency that was declared by Indira Gandhi in the mid-1970s. The chapter argues that UN resolutions around family planning and human rights played a key role for these policies despite the fact that these resolutions were not binding. How the resolutions were interpreted depended strongly on regional and local power configurations. The relationship among human rights frameworks, political decisions, and societal attitudes shaped the divergent paths taken by these countries in addressing demographic and family planning issues.

Sir John Ross was appointed Lord Chancellor of Ireland in 1921, being the last to hold that office with its abolition in 1922. Ross was born and raised in Londonderry, before proceeding to Trinity College, Dublin. Briefly an MP in the 1890s, Ross was chiefly interested in the law. Called to the Irish Bar in 1880, he took silk in 1891. His career as a Chancery barrister, and later a judge, led him to the Irish woolsack. As a result of the Government of Ireland Act 1920, his role as Lord Chancellor was very different to that of his predecessors. However, as Lord Chancellor he took no back-seat role, hearing cases in the newly established High Court of Appeal for Ireland up until his office was abolished. Ross also served as Speaker of the short-lived Senate of Southern Ireland. He retired to Northern Ireland, where he died in 1935.

Travel is a prominent feature of every cycle of medieval Irish literary tales with roots in the pre-Christian narrative tradition, as well as in the majority of stories that originated in the Christian era, including lives of saints and legends about historical figures that took shape in this period. Underlying early Irish society and culture was a tension between competing movements, one attracted by the conceit of centripetal stability and the other fueled by a centrifugal dynamic. A reassuring ideology of cultural and linguistic unity, cultivated by tradition-bearers such as poets and clerics, sought to balance out the instabilities of a volatile social order that frequently experienced realignment, fission, and reconfiguration. Related to this underlying tension was the paradox that, even though the typical person’s status, sphere of activity, and safety were circumscribed within the same social space from birth to death, medieval Irish storytelling and even Christian Ireland’s religious culture glorified travel—that is, the heroic going-forth well beyond the realm of the familiar, and the leaving-behind of one’s safety zone.

Joyce’s repudiation of Catholic Ireland and his countering declaration of artistic independence are well-known and integral features of his life-long dedication to writing. The most important of Joyce’s Irish predecessors was the poet James Clarence Mangan (1803–1849), whose tragic life was represented by Joyce as an emblem of the fate of the Irish artist, betrayed through identification of himself with his country. Joyce’s obsession with betrayal manifests itself in the lectures he delivered on Mangan, in Dublin in 1902 and in Trieste in 1907. Wherever he looked, in Irish political or literary history, he found betrayal. The great political crisis that dominated his early life – the fall of Parnell – governed this reading of his country’s past and helped him define the nature of the embattled relationship between him and his Irish audience. Parnell was, in Joyce’s view, a heroic spirit brought low by his own people, who listened to Parnell’s plea that they should not throw him to the English wolves.

Joyce’s life spans a period when material conditions, political structures, and intellectual life throughout the world were profoundly shaped by the growth and decline of European empires and the flourishing of various nationalisms, both imperialist and anti-imperialist. When Joyce was born in 1882 the ‘scramble for Africa’ and the era that one influential historian has called the ‘age of empire’ had just begun. When he died in 1941 the world was engulfed in WWII, a conflict that would fundamentally alter the balance of global power, and the age of decolonization was under way. A good deal of influential Joyce scholarship has explored Joyce’s relation to this historical trajectory. Much of it has been informed by postcolonial studies, committed to examining the complex set of issues and questions we can group under the general headings of ‘colonialism’ and ‘nationalism’. Ireland’s double status as both centre and periphery, agent and victim of colonialism is important to any investigation of how Joyce’s works engage with such issues and questions.

The story of how Joyce moved from an apparently unassuming strain of naturalism in his early fiction to the kaleidoscopic deconstruction of language and form in his final work, is one of the great arcs of world literature. Joyce produced landmark publications that would disrupt and re-imagine the writing of fiction across the globe, while remaining centered on the social conditions of early twentieth-century Dublin. His achievement is staggering: he re-wrote the terms of engagement for modern short fiction, the Bildungsroman, and the novel; he made a critical intervention in the Irish Literary Revival and became a touchstone of modernism; he invented new modes of naturalism and narration; he re-mapped classical and mythical influence on literary form; and, finally, he created his own riotous subversion of the English language. Associated with the heyday of European modernism, rooted in Irish history and culture, engaging in anti-imperial politics, with frank and challenging depictions of bodies and sex, Joyce’s oeuvre, despite censorship and snubbing, has had colossal influence over the past century and more.