Chapter One makes the case for a new way of seeing. Leaning on bell hooks and Rosemarie Garland-Thomson’s advocacy for an activist type of looking, it sets up some ways we might begin to read against – rather than with – the dominant narratives about disability. This chapter makes the first in a series of connections between classicism and coloniality that will recur in this book, and sees the process of reading bodies for meaning as rooted in colonial eugenics as well as classically-inspired physiognomy. Crucially for the argument of the book, the chapter concludes that reading bodies for meaning is neither a wholly classical nor a wholly colonial practice – and results instead from a particular way of looking back (or a linear inheritance model of classical reception). In closing, it introduces Michael Rothberg’s concept of the ‘implicated spectator’ as a way to return agency to the spectator in an assemblage-thinking model.

Old English poems frequently present death and deathlike states as synonymous with a loss of strength and social usefulness. Given the omnipresence of death in the corpus, this chapter explores a broader range of texts than previous chapters, but it focuses particularly on poems concerned with cosmic order and disorder: wisdom catalogues – including The Fortunes of Men, Maxims I and II, and Solomon and Saturn II – and poetry on Doomsday, especially Christ in Judgement and Judgement Day II. All these texts suggest death’s resemblance to dormant physical states which ostensibly belong to the living, such as sleep and drunkenness, attributing a strangely lively quality to the condition of death itself. Death emerges as a true part of the life course, not purely in terms of continued social identity, but continued embodied experience – physically, it is marked by the kind of restriction and uselessness which accompany sleep and drunkenness, suggesting a kind of spectrum of usefulness and wastefulness which cuts across life and death.

Old English poetry sometimes suggests that normative life phases are experienced by each person in the same way, but it also disrupts this idea, directing our attention to the contingencies, surprises, and sudden shifts which shape each person’s life course. This study’s introductory chapter advances this central argument and establishes the literary-critical scope of the wider monograph. It also provides a theoretical grounding in sociological and philosophical approaches to the life course, as well as the theories of the nonhuman which inform this study’s inclusion of narratives of the lives of objects, animals, and other natural phenomena in its discussion of human ageing – illustrated by a case study of the ‘oyster’ riddle of the Exeter Book (Riddle 74). Relevant material-cultural and linguistic contexts are then surveyed, and the structure of the rest of the book outlined.

When the Riddles of the Exeter Book depict early life in the world, they show a striking lack of interest in birth imagery – rather than focusing on a moment of parturition (like many aenigmata in the Latin tradition), these texts instead present early life as a time of gradual growth, contingent on continued care provided by others. To contextualise these scenes in the Riddles, this chapter considers other Old English poems such as The Fortunes of Men, contemporary embryological thought, prose accounts of the ages of man and the world, and plastic art, including carved scenes of animals nurturing their young on an eleventh-century baptismal font and the depiction of Romulus and Remus on the Franks Casket. In the chapter’s later stages, it stresses another kind of transformation as the riddle-creatures take up a variety of social roles, frequently involving the perpetration, witnessing, and suffering of violence.

Medieval and modern accounts of old age are notable for the sheer abundance and diversity of the characteristics they identify. This chapter contemplates how contrasting qualities associated with old age actually connect in Old English poetry, dwelling particularly on the relationship between wisdom and sorrow, and introducing a new theoretical framework in the form of trauma theory. It points out the considerable presence of aged poets in the corpus, focusing particularly on Beowulf and Cynewulf’s epilogues. These texts stress that living into old age inevitably constitutes a kind of survival, one which involves witnessing destruction and terrible losses. The subsequently heightened intellectual, verbal, and creative capacity of the elderly sometimes resembles a kind of post-traumatic growth as understood within trauma theory. The parts of old age that are broadly positive (especially wisdom) and those that are negative (grief and loss) therefore emerge as inseparable.

Constructions of adulthood tend to be under-studied and under-theorised. In the face of this challenge, this chapter focuses on three vernacular verse hagiographies – commonly known as Guthlac A, Juliana, and Andreas – as well as Judith, which centres on a deuterocanonical Old Testament figure. In different ways, these poems all depict maturity as associated with increased social usefulness. Masculine youthful waywardness seems to be more of a source of interest to poets than similar behaviour in women, but it is an underappreciated quality of Old English poetry that unruly youth in women is represented; in particular, St Juliana rebels against societal expectations in a manner that is explicitly linked with her youth. Nonetheless, the seemingly later poems, Andreas and Judith, both problematise – in different ways–the idea that growth through adulthood is always, or even commonly, a linear, teleological drive towards physical and intellectual excellence.