The Posthumous Works of Thomas De Quincey, Vol. 2 — Themes and Context

Recurring Images of Waves and Frontiers

Throughout the volume, De Quincey returns to images of waves, swells, and frontier lines. In the chronology essay, he speaks of events as 'undulation of the same vast swell in the ocean, running along from west to east, from the Tiber to the Tigris.' The 'frontier line of columns' and 'ne plus ultra' appear as structural metaphors for the limits of historical knowledge. These images are not decorative; they organize his thinking about time and causation. He describes the Assyrian empire's end as 'far gone down into the mighty gulf of shadows,' a phrase that echoes his earlier wave imagery. The reader will notice how often De Quincey reaches for spatial and aquatic figures to render abstract chronology tangible.

The Structure of the Coleridge Essay

Japp's introduction reveals that the Coleridge essay 'was found in a tolerably complete condition' and represents a deliberate shift from personal reminiscence to critical analysis. Yet the essay's structure is not straightforward: it 'glances at matters on which dissent must be entered' while remaining 'unvaryingly friendly and reverent.' This dual stance creates a layered argument, where praise and critique coexist without resolution. De Quincey's method is to circle his subject, approaching from multiple angles—conversation, philosophy, poetry—without ever claiming a final verdict. The essay thus mirrors the associative, recursive quality of conversation itself.

Chronology as a Dramatic Art

In the chronology section, De Quincey treats historical dating as a dramatic problem. He insists on the 'coincident time' of three great events—Greek Olympiad, Roman foundation, Assyrian fall—as 'the solemn and formal opening of history.' His complaint against previous chronologers is that they knew each date separately but 'failed to converge these three events into one focus.' This is not mere pedantry; it is a demand that history be seen as a unified, almost theatrical, spectacle. He even imagines a teacher explaining to pupils 'the new mode of delivering chronology,' suggesting that his method is pedagogical as well as scholarly. The prose itself enacts this convergence, moving from one event to another in a single, sweeping paragraph.

The Editor's Role and the Volume's Composition

Alexander H. Japp, the editor, provides brief headnotes that frame each essay's provenance. He notes that the Coleridge piece is 'evidently of a later date' than De Quincey's earlier recollections, and that the volume includes 'Omitted Passages and Varied Readings' from previously published works. This editorial apparatus gives the reader a sense of the manuscript's unfinished, posthumous nature. Japp acknowledges assistance from De Quincey's family and a proofreader, grounding the volume in a network of scholarly collaboration. The table of contents lists twenty chapters, ranging from 'Conversation and S. T. Coleridge' to 'Contrast of Greek and Persian Feeling,' revealing the breadth of De Quincey's later interests.

Readers approaching this volume should expect not a polished treatise but a series of exploratory essays, each a fragment of a larger, unfinished conversation. De Quincey's digressions are not flaws but features; his wave-like prose rewards those who follow its rhythms. The editor's notes offer a helpful guide to the texts' origins, but the real pleasure lies in watching De Quincey think on the page—associating, qualifying, and returning to his central images with a persistence that is itself a kind of argument.

Reading De Quincey’s circling prose, I remembered sitting up late with a worn copy of Historical Essays — Story, Setting & Ideas, where each chapter felt less like argument than a slow tide receding. Both books share that strange ache of time folding backward. I finished neither quickly. Instead, I kept pausing, watching the margin shadows grow, as if chronology itself were breathing.