Thanks to Richard Hunter, Simon Goldhill, Judith Perkins, Tim Whitmarsh, Anthony Boyle, John Penwill and anonymous readers; to participants of seminars at UCL (especially Nick Lowe) and Cambridge, and to the joint Cambridge-Paris ‘elite and non-elite’ AHRC project (especially Greg Woolf and Mireille Corbier), all of whom commented on versions of this research. Thanks too to my colleagues James Clackson for help with linguistics, and Dorothy Thompson and Augusta McMahon for clarification of some points of Babylonian history.
1. Photius Bibliotheca, codex 94. The text is that of Henry, R., Photius: Bibliothèque vols. 1 and 2 (Paris1960). All translations are my own.
2.Swain, S., Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, AD 50–250 (Oxford1996) 126f.
3. See Brooten, B., Love Among Women: Early Christian Responses to Female Homoeroticism (Chicago1996); Cameron, A., ‘Love (and Marriage) between Women’, GRBS39 (1998), 137–56; Lilja, S., Homosexuality in Augustan and Republican Rome (Helsinki1983); Montiel, J.F.M., Desde Lesbos con Amor: Homosexualidad femenina en la antiguedad (Madrid1996); Rabinowitz, N.S. and Auanger, L., Among Women: From the Homosocial to the Homoerotic in the Ancient World (Austin2002).
4. See duBois, P., ‘The Subject in Antiquity after Foucault’, in D.H. Larmour, P.A. Miller and C. Platter (eds.), Rethinking Sexuality: Foucault and Classical Antiquity (Princeton1998), 85–103; A. Richlin, ‘Foucault’s History of Sexuality: A Useful Theory for Women?’, ibid. 138–70; Foxhall, L., ‘Pandora Unbound: A Feminist Critique of Foucault’s History of Sexuality’. in A. Cornwall and N. Lindisfame (eds.), Dislocating Masculinity: Comparative Ethnographies (London1994), 133–46; H. Morales, ‘The Ancient Novels and the History of Sexuality’ in T. Whitmarsh (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Ancient Novels (Cambridge forthcoming).
5. On the difficulties of this formulation, and the complexities of understanding any perceived continuities between sexual practices in antiquity and the present day, see Brooten (n.3 above), 1–17, and N.S. Rabinowitz, ‘Introduction’, in Rabinowitz and Auanger (n.3 above), 1–33, who summarises the important debate (in relation to male sexual practices) between David Halperin and Amy Richlin.
6. On which see Brooten (n.3 above), 51–53; Montiel (n.3 above), 110–18; S.P. Haley, ‘Lucian’s “Leaena and Clonarium”: Voyeurism or a Challenge to Assumptions?’, in Rabinowitz and Auanger (n.3 above), 286–303.
7.Wilson, N.G., Photius: The Bibliotheca (London1994), 5.
8. So D. Konstan, Sexual Symmetry: Love in the Ancient Novel and Related Genres (Princeton1994), 76 n.39: ‘That narrative appears to differ in many ways from the so-called ideal romances that we have been considering. I have judged it unsafe to rely on this and other highly fragmentary texts in eliciting the pattern of erotic relations in the Greek novel. I am not persuaded that the novel is marginalised because it is fragmentary, rather than because it differs from the ‘ideal’ romances. Goldhill, Neither S.D., Foucault’s Virginity: Ancient Erotic Fiction and the History of Sexuality (Cambridge1995), nor Haynes, K., Fashioning the Feminine in the Greek Novel (London and New York2003), discuss Iamblichus.
9. See Adams, J., The Latin Sexual Vocabulary (London1982), 177, for ‘be with’ vocabulary as metonymic for sexual relations. The similar phrase is used in Lucian’s Dialogues of the Courtesans in a context in which there is no doubt that it refers to having sex (in this case between a girl and a young man): 6.1.
10.Sandy’s, Gerald translation in B.P. Reardon (ed.), Collected Ancient Greek Novels (Berkeley1989).
11. Cameron (n.3 above), 151.
12. Cameron cites two examples from Herodas and Xenophon of Ephesus: (‘On the twentieth of Taureon Hecate is celebrating her daughter Artakane’s wedding’. Mimes 7. 85–86), and (‘Apsyrtus celebrated his daughter’s wedding’ Ephesian Tales 2.7): Cameron (n.3 above), 150f.
13. Brooten (n.3 above), 51. Boswell, J., Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century (Chicago1980), 84, and Rohde, E., Der griechische Roman und seine Vorläufer4 (Hildesheim1960), 401–10, also think marriage the most likely option. W. Kroll, s.v. ‘Iamblichos’ in Pauly-Wissowa 9 (Stuttgart 1916), Schneider-Menzel, U., in Altheim, F. (ed.), Literatur und Gesellschaft im ausgehenden Altertum (Halle1948), 55 and 67, and Montiel (n.3 above), 118–20, agree that it is more plausible that Berenice acted as organiser of Mesopotamia’s marriage.
14. Suda 2.603.18 s.v. . Text also printed in Habrich’s edition: Habrich, E., Iamblichi Babyloniacorum Reliquiae (Leipzig1960).
15. We are unable to reconcile this account with that of Photius, which tells us that the novel ends after the sixteenth book. Most scholars trust Photius here, rather than the encyclopaedia.
16. For Montiel, the Suda entry is the decisive factor in the argument against this being a marriage between two women: Montiel (n.3 above), 118f.
17. Brooten (n.3 above), 335.
18. Text published in Henry (n.1 above), 40 n.1. Cf. Millar, F., The Roman Near East 31 BC AD 337 (Cambridge MA1993), 489–523, at 491: ‘This note could indeed derive from a closer and less hurried reading of the original novel than Photius’ summary did.
19. Swain (n.2 above), 110, 130.
20. For example, the daughters of Ptolemy II, Ptolemy IX Soter II, and Ptolemy XI Auletes. See Stephens, S. and Winkler, J., Ancient Greek Novels: The Fragments (Princeton1995), 196 n.31; Beck, R., ‘History into Fiction’, Ancient Narrative1 (2001), 283–300, quotation from 287.
21. So far as I have been able to verify, Garmos is neither a Babylonian nor a Greek name. None of the editions of Iamblichus comments on Garmos’ historicity. He has, however, a literary parallel. The fifty-ninth letter in Philostratus’ Letters of Apollonius of Tyana is written as if from Garmos, the King of the Babylonians, to Neogyndes, the King of the Indians. Nothing in the letter suggests a connection with Babylonian Tales, but two unrelated ‘Garmos, King of Babylon’s seems strange and the question of a common source, literary or historical, must remain open.
22. Cassius Dio Epitome 68.23.1.
23. The description of Mesopotamia as an island, rather than a region, is ideological rather than geographically accurate. On the relationship between the rivers and the land, see Oppenheim, A.L., Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization (Chicago1964), 35.
24. Another example comes immediately after the descriptions of Mesopotamia, Tigris and Euphrates. Photius writes that there followed a digression in which ‘[the tale of] Tanais, after whom the river Tanais is named, [is] told in detail’ (75b11).
25. Rhodanes and Sinonis are possibly Hellenised forms of the names of two Armenian epic heroes, Faredun and Shahnaz, although other derivations have been suggested: see J.R. Russell, ‘Poetics, Mystics and Philosophers; or the Near East in the Mind of Armenia’ (1994) www.commercemarketplace.com/home/naasr/NAASR_2003_1.htm. Schneider-Menzel (n.13 above, 79f.) suggests that the name Sinonis is derived from the Akkadian sinuntu, Aramaic senunit, which means ‘swallow’ This would bolster the interpretation of the prophecy of the eagle and kite chasing the swallow at 78a39 as portending Garmos and Rhodanes’ pursuit of Sinonis. The swallow eludes the eagle, we are told, but is caught by the kite, just as Sinonis eludes Garmos, but is reunited with Rhodanes. Stephens and Winkler (n.20 above, 199 n.42) comment: ‘In Babylonian divination, the eagle has royal associations similar to those it had in Greece; the swallow, which does not particularly figure in Greek omenry was also significant, usually for where it built its nest. Linguistically, the hellenisation of the Armenian names and the derivation from Akkadian and Aramaic are equally plausible.
26. See Ostrowski, J.A., Personifications of Rivers in Greek and Roman Art (Krakow1991), and Huskinson, J., ‘Rivers of Roman Antioch’ in E. Stafford and J. Herrin (eds.), Personification in the Greek World: From Antiquity to Byzantium (Aldershot & Burlington2005), 247–64.
27. The praeceptor amoris envisages the boy pointing them out to the girl at his side: ‘That is Euphrates, with a fringe of reeds on his forehead; he with the dark blue locks hanging down must be Tigris’ (AA 1.223f.). See also Lucan’s Civil War (8.212–14) where Tigris and Euphrates represent—metonymically—wider territory.
28. ARMENIA ET MESOPOTAMIA IN POTESTATEM P[OPVLI] R[OMANI] REDACTAE. The obverse shows a bust of Trajan wearing a laurel wreath and imperial cloak. Breglia, L., Roman Imperial Coins: Their Art and Technique (New York1968), 134f.; Carson, R.A.G., Coins of the Roman Empire (New York1990), p1. 10, fig. 130; Mattingley, H. and Sydenham, E.A., Roman Imperial Coinage Vol 2: Vespasian to Hadrian (London1926), 289, p1. 11, fig. 191. Huskinson (n.26 above, 250–52) discusses personifications of Tigris and (probably) Euphrates and Mesopotamia in a mosaic in the House of Cilicia at Seleucia, dated to the latter half of the 2nd century CE.
29. Millar (n.18 above, 491) writes that Euphrates, Tigris and Mesopotamia were the ‘three daughters’ of the priestess of Aphrodite. This seems simply to be an error, but it is an error that encourages non-recognition that Iamblichus’ representation of the three youths fits an established pattern.
31.Connors, C., ‘Metaphor and Politics in John Barclay’s Argenis (1612)’ in S. Harrison, M. Paschalis and S. Frangoulidis (eds.), Metaphor and the Ancient Novel (Groningen2005), 245–74, at 246; Haynes (n.8 above), 161f.
32. On marriage in the Greek novel see Haynes (n.8 above), 156–62. On the specific difficulties of teleology in Achilles Tatius see Morales, H., Vision and Narrative in Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon (Cambridge2004), 143–51, Repath, I., ‘Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Cleitophon: What Happened Next?’. CQ55 (2005), 250–65.
33. There is a possible inconsistency between the narrative at 77b38 where we are told Sinonis is ‘now married to the king of Syria’ and 78a24 where ‘Sakas sends a letter to Garmos saying that Sinonis is about to be married to the king of the Syrians, a young man’ However, it is also possible that the letter may have arrived after Sinonis got married, in which case the versions are not incompatible.
34. They suggest ‘[t]he latter would seem more probable in a text that so proclaimed its current Syrian connections’: Stephens and Winkler (n.20 above), 183.
35.Babyloniaka is the name attested by the Suda. Photius gives no title, referring to it only as . The A MS of the Suda has ; instead of . Commenting on this, Tim Whitmarsh makes an interesting conjecture: ‘This may be simple dittography; but it is also possible that A transmits the traces of an original reading , perhaps via an intermediary corruption to : Whitmarsh, T., ‘The Greek Novel: Titles and Genre’, AJP126 (2005), 586–611, for a discussion of the titles of the novels.
36.Adler, A., Suidae Lexicon: Vol. 4 (1926), xi.49.
37. Collected in Jacoby, F. (ed.), Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Vol. 3 (Berlin and Leiden1958), 364–97 = FGrHist 680. On the problems of transmission of these testimonia see Schnabel, P., Berossos und die Babylonisch-Hellenistische Literatur (Leipzig1923). Translation and commentary in Verbrugghe, G.P. and Wickersham, J.M., Berossos and Manetho, Introduced and Translated: Native Traditions in Ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt (Michigan1996).
38. On the purpose of Berossos’ Babyloniaka, see Kuhrt, A., ‘Berossus’ Babyloniaka and Seleucid Rule in Babylonia’, in A. Kuhrt and S. Sherwin-White (eds.), Hellenism in the East: The Interaction of Greek and Non-Greek Civilisations from Syria to Central Asia after Alexander (London1987), 32–56.
39. It does not follow from this that a relationship between novel and historiography entails the kind of generic constraints envisaged by Rohde (n.13 above), 263f, and Perry, B.E., The Ancient Romances: A Literary-Historical Account of their Origins (Berkeley1967), 167–69, wherein the histories create expectations of historical ‘realism’ in the novels: the relations are freer and more imaginative than that.
40. See e.g. Apuleius Apol. 38; Lucian Menipp. 9 and Philops. 12.
41. Also: ‘The soldiers coming in the darkness saw the bodies and, following the custom of the Babylonians () threw down various items for them..’ (Fragment 19 = Suda 4.387.26 s.v. ). On the meaning of this ‘custom’ see Stephens and Winkler (n.20 above), 207 n.56.
42. By Soterichos (writing around 300 CE) according to the Suda s.v. Soterichos: Adler (n.36 above), s.877.
43. Most commonly, if erroneously, referred to as ‘temple-prostitution’ Lerner, G., ‘The Origin of Prostitution in Ancient Mesopotamia’, Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society11.2 (1986), 236–54, discusses the common failure to make distinctions between the different types of cultic and commercial activities in and around temples that involved sex. Beard, M. and Henderson, J., ‘With This Body I Thee Worship: Sacred Prostitution in Antiquity’ in M. Wyke (ed.), Parchments of Gender (Oxford1988), 56–79, expose ‘temple-prostitution’ to be an Orientalist fantasy. On Herodotus and Strabo see also Kurke, L., Coins, Bodies, Games, and Gold (Princeton1999), 227–48. In Herodotus’ account of what he calls ‘the most disgraceful of the customs the Babylonians have’ (), at some point in her life every local woman must sit in the temple of Aphrodite and have sex with a stranger (1.9.9). In Strabo’s version women also come to the temple of Aphrodite to have sex with a stranger (16.1.20). Prostitution is not mentioned in Photius’ epitome, but the temple of Aphrodite figures prominently in the narrative. Mesopotamia’s mother (who is not named) is the priestess of Aphrodite. There is also mention of (but with little detail) ‘a digression about Aphrodite’s temple, and how women who visit there must publicly announce the dreams that they have in the temple’ (75a36). From this we might conjecture that maybe the original made some play with sexual stereotypes of Babylonians, but we are not in a position to say more than that.
44. For the self-representations of ancient novelists as learned and cultured, see Stramaglia, A., ‘Fra “consumo” e “impegno”: usi didattici della narrativa nel mondo antico’ in O. Pecere and A. Stramaglia (eds.), La Letteratura di consumo nel mondo Greco-Latino (Cassino1996), 99–149, at 148.
45.Ramelli, I., ‘I Babyloniaka di Giamblico e la cultura plurietnica dell’ impero fra II e III secolo’. Athenaeum89 (2001), 447–58, places Iamblichus in the ‘context’ of the four writers mentioned above, but they hardly form a group and are not all contemporaries chronologically (Tatian is 110–180 CE, Bardesanes 154–222 CE, Sextus Julius Africanus some time in the 3rd century CE, Porphyry 254–c.305 CE).
46. Swain (n.1 above), 421f.
47. Stephens and Winkler (n.20 above), 182 n.10.
48. Stephens and Winkler (n.20 above), 183. But see also Stephens, S.A., ‘Fragments of Lost Novels’; in G. Schmeling (ed.), The Novel in the Ancient World (Leiden1996), 655–84, which takes rather a different approach. Following Braun, M., History and Romance in Graeco-Oriental Literature (Oxford1938), she argues that this is ‘nationalistic novel’
49. On the complexity of identities (especially) at this time, I have learned from Wallace-Hadrill, A., ‘Review Article: Greek Knowledge, Roman Power’. CP83 (1988), 224–33; Woolf, G., ‘Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: Culture, Identity and the Civilizing Process in the Roman East’, PCPS40 (1994), 116–43; Gleason, M., Making Men: Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton1995); Goldhill, S.D. (ed.), Being Greek Under Rome: Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic and the Development of Empire (Cambridge2001), especially ‘Introduction. Setting an Agenda: Everything is Greece to the Wise’ 1–25; Whitmarsh, T., Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of Imitation (Oxford2001); id., The Second Sophistic (Oxford2005).
50. Jos. Ant. 18.9.9.
51. Cf. Millar (n.18 above), 492f.: ‘Though all generalisations are rash, it seems from our evidence that we should see both the pagan and the Christian culture of this area, as expressed in Syriac, as derivatives of Greek culture, and not as a source of Syria proper. Above all, the notion that there was a “Syrian” culture, embracing equally the zone of Syriac literature and Roman Syria, goes beyond our evidence.’
52. Millar (n.18 above), 497f.: ‘His account of learning [Babylonian] can hardly be meant as a reference to the acquisition of another branch of Aramaic, presumably written in the same alphabet (as most branches were), but in a somewhat different script. He must surely intend to imply that what was learned was what moderns call Akkadian, also a Semitic language, but written in cuneiform. There is perfectly clear, and increasing, evidence for the continuing production of cuneiform tablets through the Hellenistic period, and indeed into the first century AD. But if it is a historical reality (and not a piece of fiction, as it may be) that a captive taken by Trajan’s army could still be learned in Akkadian, all presumptions about the culture of the area will need to be revised.’
53. Millar (n.18 above), 497.
54. Millar (n.18 above), 492–510.
55. Millar (n.18 above), 503.
56.Hägg, T.The Novel in Antiquity (Oxford and New York1983), 34.
57. Hägg (n.56 above), 34; Borgogno, A., ‘Sui Babyloniaca di Giamblico’, Hermes103 (1975), 101–26, at 105: ‘In Garmo non troviamo, come in Dionisio, la delicatezza e la sensibilità dell’ : e la tipica figura del despota barbaro.
58. R. Johne, ‘Women in the Ancient Novel’, in Schmeling (n.48 above), 151–208, at 184. The essays in Bottero, J. (ed.), Everyday Life in Ancient Mesopotamia (= Initiation a l’Orient ancien [Paris1992]), tr. A. Nevill (Edinburgh 2001), also reinscribe stereotypes of Mesopotamia.
59. Frag. 85 (= codd. Laur. 57,12 and Vat. 1354). We do not have any context for this fragment of Iamblichus, and it is, of course, possible, if unlikely, that it was originally framed so as to undermine, rather than support, that view. On the difficulty of reading sententiae, see Morales, H., ‘Sense and Sententiousness in the Greek Novels’ in A. Sharrock and H. Morales (eds.), Intratextuality: Greek and Roman Textual Relations (Oxford2000), 67–88.
60. H. Kuch, ‘A Study on the Margin of the Ancient Novel: “Barbarians” and Others’, in Schmeling (n.48 above), 209–20, at 213.
61. Judith Perkins’s argument, in an unpublished paper entitled, ‘Who’s Who? Iamblichus’ Babyloniaka’. delivered at the APA in 1995. I’m grateful to Professor Perkins for letting me see a copy of her paper.
62. Perkins (n.61 above). Chaereas kicking the pregnant Callirhoe is an exception to this pattern.
63. Perkins (n.61 above).
64. Fragment 35.
65. As Perkins (n.61 above) also suggests.
66.Heiserman, A., The Novel Before the Novel: Essay and Discussions about the Beginnings of Prose Fiction in the West (Chicago1977), 62f.; Stephens and Winkler (n.20 above), 185f.
67.Leigh, M., Comedy and the Rise of Rome (Oxford2004), 60. So Gaius Inst. 1.129: ius postliminii, quo hi, qui ab hostibus capti sunt, si reuersi fuerint, omnia pristina iura recipiunt. It could also apply to voluntary exile and other situations. Leigh discusses the historical evolution of postliminium, and the full range of circumstances it could involve: Leigh (above), 60–77. I have also found useful Kornhardt, H., ‘Postliminium in Republikanischer Zeit’. SDHI19 (1953), 1–37 and Cursi, M.F., La struttura del postliminium nella repubblica e nel principato (Naples1996).
68.Bowersock, G.W., Fiction as History: Nero to Julian (Berkeley1994), 109. Bowersock’s argument—that Scheintode in the novels reflect resurrection narratives in contemporary Christian narratives—takes a very different direction from mine.
69. Stephens and Winkler (n.20 above), 184.
70. On which see Selden, D.L., ‘Aithiopika and Ethiopianism’, in R.L. Hunter (ed.), Studies in Heliodorus, PCPS suppl. 21 (Cambridge1998), 182–232; T. Whitmarsh, ‘The Birth of a Prodigy: Heliodorus and the Genealogy of Hellenism’, ibid. 93–124; Perkins, J., ‘An Ancient “Passing” Novel: Heliodorus’ Aithiopika’, Arethusa32 (1999), 197–214.
71. ‘What Callirhoe was to Ionia, Rhodogune was to Asia’ .
72. K. Dowden, ‘Greek Novel and the Ritual of Life: An Exercise in Taxonomy’ in Harrison, Paschalis and Frangoulidis (n.31 above), 23–35, at 23. He argues that the novels are essentially allegorical, but not in the linear, often forced, way that Merkelbach and Kerenyi’s Mysterientexte approach presented it.
73. Theodoras Priscianus (Eupor. rer. med., 2.11.34).
74. See Pellegrini, A., ‘There’s No Place like Home? Lesbian Studies and the Classics’, in L. Garber (ed.) Tilting the Tower (New York and London1994), 70–82, on the invisibility of ‘lesbian’ history, even within ‘feminist and gay-affirmative’ classical scholarship:
75.Hall, E., ‘The Ass with Double Vision: Politicising an Ancient Greek Novel’, in D. Margolies and M. Joannou (eds.), Heart of the Heartless World: Essays in Cultural Resistance in Memory of Margot Heinemann (London1995), 47–59, at 51.
76. Hall (n.75 above), 51: ‘This [dual perspective] is particularly remarkable because all the other Greek novels try to erase the reality of submission to Rome, preferring to set their action nostalgically in the “free” pre-Roman Greek past of a few hundred years before.
77. See e.g. E. Sciolino, ‘Is Baghdad’s Tiger a Literary Lion?’. The New York Times, May 27th 2001, p.A10; B. Whitaker, ‘Another Side of Saddam—The Shy Romantic Novelist’ The Guardian, May 26th 2001. See also Connors (n.31 above), 245–47.
78. According to Sciolino (n.77 above), quoted by Connors (n.37 above).
79. Whitaker (n.77 above).
Margot Claire Heinemann (18 November 1913 – 10 June 1992) was a BritishMarxist writer, drama scholar, and leading member of the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB).
She was born at 89 Priory Road, West Hampstead, London NW6. Her father was Meyer Max Heinemann, a merchant banker, and Selma Schott, both non-Orthodox Jews from Frankfurt, Germany. Heinemann was educated at Roedean School and at King Alfred School in London, and read English at Newnham College, Cambridge from 1931, later graduating from Cambridge University with a BA with first class honours. She was the lover of John Cornford, while a student at the University of Cambridge. The historian Eric Hobsbawm, who was also there at the time, wrote "she probably had more influence on me than any other person I have known."
She joined the CPGB in 1934, because of its active opposition to the British Union of Fascists.
After Cambridge she taught 14-year-old girls at Cadbury's Continuation School in Bournville, now Bournville College, on day release from the chocolate factory. In the CPGB she worked in the Labour Research Department from 1937.
She stood as the communist candidate for Vauxhall Constituency in the 1950 General Election.
In 1959 she resumed teaching at Camden School for Girls and then Goldsmith's College from 1965-77. In 1976 she was made a Fellow of New Hall, Cambridge. She was still teaching at New Hall up to 1989 and stayed with the CPGB until it was dissolved in 1991.
She had a child (Jane, b. 1953) with John Desmond Bernal.
- Britain's coal: A Study of the Mining Crisis, Left Book Club, 1944
- Wages Front, 1947, Labour Research Department
- Coal must come first, 1948, prepared for the Labour Research Department
- The Tories and how to beat them, Communist Party, 1951
- The Adventurers, 1960 (novel)
- Britain in the Nineteen Thirties, 1971 (with Noreen Branson)
- Experiments in English Teaching - New Work in Higher and Further Education 1976 (editor with David Craig)
- Culture and Crisis in Britain in the 30s, 1979 (with Jon Clark, David Margolies and Carole Snee)
- Puritanism and Theatre: Thomas Middleton and Opposition Drama under the Early Stuarts, 1980
- History and the Imagination - Selected Writings of AL Morton, 1990 (editor)
- David Margolies and Maroula Joannou, editors (2002) Heart of the Heartless World: Essays in Cultural Resistance in Memory of Margot Heinemann