Hi! Could you please read, summarize, and take detailed notes on three research articles for me? Also, please suggest ideas for a thesis. I will be writing a 2,500-word research paper on Fanny Hill: M

Hi! Could you please read, summarize, and take detailed notes on three research articles for me? Also, please suggest ideas for a thesis. I will be writing a 2,500-word research paper on Fanny Hill: M
897 ELH 82 (2015) 897 935 © 2015 by The Johns Hopkins University Press MAKING PORNOGRAPHY, 1749 1968: THE HISTORY OF THE HISTORY OF THE HUMAN HEART bY KATH lEEN lUbEY but what shall I do to get to speak to her? If cold unanimated Writing could banish her Indifference, sure the Eloquence of W ords, l ips, Eyes, Prayers, Vows, warm Embraces, and short breathed Sighs, must melt her into Compliance. Oh the nameless transporting extasy; thus to fold her to my warm b osom, to see her panting, blushing, sighing, dying! the very Thought transports me beyond mortal Imagination. The History of the Human Heart, 1749 b ut what shall I do to get to speak to her? If cold inanimate writing could banish her indifference, surely the eloquence of words, lips, eyes, warm embraces, and short-breathed sighs, must melt her into compliance. Oh, the nameless ecstacy thus to press her to my heart; týo see her blushing, panting, sighing, dying! b y heaven, the very thought transports me beyond imagination. Memoirs of a Man of Pleasure, 1844 b ut what shall I do to get to speak to her? If cold inanimate writing could banish her indifference, surely the eloquence of words, lips, eyes, warm embraces, and short-breathed sighs, must melt her into compliance. Memoirs of a Man of Pleasure, 1968 My three epigraphs provide a micro-example of the transformation of pornographic narrative across more than two centuries. Originally narrating an amalgam of physical desire, imaginative fantasy, and affective transport, this single passage is pruned to focus on the hoped-for sex act with increasing efficiency. All three versions agree on the essentials of titillation: sighs, lips, a woman s surrender. b ut the material surrounding the imagined physical union changes, and attention to the mind s role in sexual desire is whittled out. In 1749, 898 the ejaculative, hyperbolic, syntactically fluid passage shows the herýo s fantasy to heighten his longing. The erotic wish is trimmed and gram- matically tidied in 1844, when an editor finds it more suitable for the male protagonist to press . . . to [his] heart his beloved than ýto fold her to [his] warm b osom presumably too emasculating a term for the male body and eliminates the Prayers, Vows that would pronounce the spiritual degree of his supplication. b y 1968, the passage is halved. It ends with the beloved s compliance, doing away with the source text s attention to the power of imagination, to the transport that succeeds from purely mental action. b y the later twentieth century, pornographic narrative economically focuses on eroticized bodies, masculine prowess, and consummated sex acts, a rather far cry from the eighteenth-century text s equal reliance on the mind to complete the erotic scene. This essay documents the formal and thematic contraction of pornographic narrative over the two centuries that saw its coher – ence as a genre. Drawing on archival work with four editions of the virtually unknown, anonymously authored novel The History of the Human Heart, I demonstrate that a narrative focus on sex acts was purposefully imposed by later editors on an eighteenth-century source text that refused to treat sex as a singular or privileged subjecýt matter. History s rich, complicated, and long textual history makes it an ideal perhaps the only case study in which we can ascertain the reading and editing practices that transformed pornographic texts from hybrid to specialized, reflecting the wider coalescence of ý the genre into its modern forms. Containing a complex introduction, numerous lengthy footnotes, and a sexual picaresque narrative, the 1749 History is textually and thematically heterogeneous, and self- consciously so. Narrative descriptions of sex acts constitute a central ý but not exclusive focal point of the text, and they do not always aim to arouse erotic feeling. In the hands of nineteenth- and twentieth- century editors, History s heterogeneity was systematically pared back to more consistently deliver genital action. l isa Sigel has documented a related narrowing of pornographic style across this period, showing that the fluidity and versatility of eighteenth-century sexual diction, which connected the body to religion, beauty, and humor, ossified into a language of dirt and pollution by the late Victorian period. 1 I find this linguistic contraction to parallel an increasing sexual focus imposed by nineteenth- and twentieth-century producers of pornography on narrative itself. They focus the text more and more narrowly on sex actsý as such, and they modernize History s eighteenth-century references Making Pornography, 1749 1968 899 and stylistics in order to situate narrative descriptions of sex acts wiýthin a world perceived as proximate and concrete by later readers. This contemporariness was achieved by suppressing eighteenth-century sexuality s convergences with science, religion, sentiment, and gender. Introduction and footnotes were curtailed or deleted, Italianate names Anglicized, sentimental dialogue reduced, and title changed to Memoirs of a Man of Pleasure the better, no doubt, to capitalize on John Cleland s pornographic brand. History s plot, which remains unchanged through 1968, traces the history of Camillo, a Shropshire boy born to a wealthy family, from conception to marriage, wending its way through the sexual discoveries of adolescence and the bawdy mischief of his grand tour through l o ndon and Holland, during which he seduces women, attends masquerades, patronizes brothels, feigns betrothals, and performs the part of agonized lover until he is tricked into a surprise marriage to the b elgian Angelina, who, having already succumbed to Camillo s repeated searches of her body, boldly pursues him from Amsterdam to l ondon. 2 Framing the main narrative are an introduction and footnotes that elaborate its scientific, cultural, and philosophical assumptionsý. Their effect is both probing and comic, layering the main narrative s sometimes explicit, sometimes allusive descriptions of genital acts with sober reflection and expansive significance. Alternately lusty proseý, scientific treatise, and personal history, the text features and describes sex acts, but it also does much more. It leads the reader away from local sexual episodes into the discursive nether regions of the footnoteýs, displaying a confidence that the reader will be attentive and amused as the text meanders. History acquaints us with a miscellaneous model of reading less familiar than the purposeful, libidinal consumption we typically asso- ciate with pornography. History figures its readers as highly tolerant of, indeed pleased by multiple registers of meaning unfolding at once. It demands a variety of attitudes in readers, inviting both absorptiýve or intensive reading and more desultory modes of consumption ý that, as Simon Dickie argues, coexisted in eighteenth-century reading practices. 3 While the text invites a sustained interest in Camillo as adventurer and lover, it repeatedly disrupts readers singular focus on him, deflecting their attentions variously to the predicaments of seduced women, the speculations of the footnotes, and the hero s own sentimental reflections. History seems most comfortably at home in the mid-century subgenre Dickie calls the male-centered ramble novel in which the obligatory romance plot stands as an orgaýnizing Kathleen lubey 900 principle to various hijinks fraud, whoring, gambling, drinking, and ý fighting. 4 Its readers would not have expected a Clelandesque concen- tration of narrated sex acts, nor would physical pleasure have been their premeditated aim in reading about a hero s sexual adventures. l ike the pre-revolutionary French context studied by Robert Darnton, where philosophical and political concerns suffused sexually explicit narrative, eighteenth-century English readers would not have thought about sexual arousal as an exclusive outcome of reading. The notion of a pure pornography would not have been thinkable in aý climate of pronounced textual hybridity. 5 In the English context, as we see in History, this hybridity comprised the disparate practices of comic prose fiction, where readers attentions were invited to meander iný unpredictable directions, making associations at times absurdly with scientific, religious, and philosophical discourses. These paths wouldý not have taxed their patience or compromised the occasional erotic response. In fact, History shows how extra-sexual material was inflated to comic proportions, exemplifying a point of origin for pornography in which authors and readers refuse to attribute earnest or singular meaning to sex acts a perhaps less coherent project than the socio- political meaning l ynn Hunt finds in early pornography , and predating the utilitarian economy of later pornography, where sexual action is concentrated into the genre s primary focus. 6 b y calling History pornography, I m suggesting a definition of the genre as temperamentally inconsistent, discursively hybrid, and intermittently erotic. Pornography is not as prescriptive as we have imagined it to be, at least in its early forms; nor do we always find ýit contained within individual, transgressive texts, an argument I ve maýde at length in a recent book. 7 Defining pornography prior to the genre s establishment is complicated, of course; but Darnton reminds us that even though pornography as such did not exist in the eighteenth century . . . one should not relativize the concept out of existence. 8 It remains a useful analytic for observing the historically contingent ways in which representations of sex acts create meaning in art and literature. The uncommon spin I am putting on the concept is the possibility that pornography isn t consistently erotic that it does not contain an unwavering imperative to arousal. Pornography is, more inclusively, a mode of inquiry that takes for granted the relevance of sex acts to other fields of experience and knowledge; and within pornography, narrative descriptions of sex acts constitute a method for engaging or lampooning those other fields. These dialogic exchanges doý not necessitate readers arousal. l ike sexuality as we have understood Making Pornography, 1749 1968 901 it since Foucault, sex acts in History constitute a fluid and highly adaptable field of experience that shapes the hero s and reader s perceptions of their world. Early pornography, in my view, does not privilege sexual stimulation over other perceptive possibilitiesý within this field; it insists, in fact, on the coexistence of multiple responýses at once, drawing on humor, intellectual debate, and cultural critique to emphasize the associative function of sex acts in narrative. 9 In this multitasking model of reading embraced too by writers like Haywood, Fielding, and Sterne we can see pornography as an integration, ratherý than a separation, of sex acts with a wide array of cultural concerns. History provides reason to question the critical practice of identi- fying early pornography as a set of distinct and insulated techniques foýr describing sex acts. Julie Peakman s rich account of the field of erotic writing in the period yet narrowly identifies pornographic strandsý in which writers develop particular techniques aimed at sexually gratifyingý readers, suggesting these are separable from a text s references to other modes of experience. 10 Karen Harvey even more radically differenti- ates pornography, finding its directness and transparency of descrip- tion to dampen readers imaginative faculties. She defines erotýica against pornography, arguing the former s techniques of metaphor and distancing engage creativity and criticism in readers in a way referentiýal genital descriptions cannot. 11 History suggests Harvey s distinction is a false one. Readers are expected to shuttle between different registers of literary representation and sexual understanding, and to exercise flexibility of humor and intellect as they do so. History advances a historical view of pornography as a disorganized and unplanned field of overlap between narrated sexual experience and countless other discourses sexuality engages. The text blithely leaves these threads open and unresolved, inviting readers to explore them without a particular endpoint being privileged over any other. Restoring a wider view of early pornography allows us to see the transformation of the genre from a hybrid to a specialized narrative practice, a perspective that remains invisible when we overvalue sexual content as its defining feature. Cleland s Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure has, albeit richly and productively, contributed to this blind spot. It offers a narrative that confirms our distinctly modern ý understanding of pornography as a concentration of sexual description designed to arouse the reader and has therefore seemed the notable exception, appearing to stand alone as a fully pornographic English ý work until the later eighteenth century. 12 When we look from Cleland, to the well-conceived doctrines of pleasure contrived by Sade, to the Kathleen lubey 902 unceasing sexual efficiency of My Secret Life, pornography can seem to have originated in texts with a unified and unwavering focus on sex acts. b ut as the publication history of History shows, pornographers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries saw what literary critics have not: that there is more than one way to look for early pornography, and that it does not always, or even usually, present itself as an organized, efficient succession of narrative descriptions of sex acts. 13 Editors found in History a repository of material that could be re-crafted as they incrementally invented the modern pornographic function of arousing readers with sexual description. From this perspective, we can see pornography as the purposeful construction of a condensed sexual narrative from a markedly less focused source. Sex became History s overvalued content for later pornographers, concentrated and elevated in a way the eighteenth-century original does not anticipate. Our work as critics should avoid replicating this overvaluation; we should not seek to curate a collection of sexually explicit works in ourý attempt to know pornography s history, but instead look for the ways in which texts tell us what sex acts meant, what kinds of ideas they introduced, and what other subjects and discourses were necessary to justify their recurrence. These myriad associations were subdued as modern pornographic narrative was made. I. PORNOGRAPHY IN 1749: THE HISTORY OF THE HUMAN HEART The History of the Human Heart was published in 1749 in london by J. Freeman, publisher of many anonymous texts promising intrigue and topicality to the mid-century reader (Figure 1). 14 It is exactly contemporary with Cleland s Memoirs but is less relentless in its genital focus. b ecause it so richly explores sexuality s social and philosophical aspects, it is truly surprising that History has garnered so little critical attention in the decades since pornography, vis-á-vis Cleland s novel, was established as part of the eighteenth-century canon. History has appeared on the radar of the field, reprinted in 1974 in the Garland series The Flowering of the Novel as well as in The Eighteenth Century microfilm collection, but it is noted only briefly in a few studies of eighteenth-century sexual culture. 15 As we shall see below, during the eighteenth century History was categorized with texts we wouldn t now consider pornographic, and by the next century, it occupied a definitive position in the lineage of texts being assembled by publishers, sellers,ý and collectors of pornography. Making Pornography, 1749 1968 903 Figure 1. Title page, The History of the Human Heart, 1749. Singer-Mendenhall Col- lection, Rare book and Manuscript library, University of Pennsylvania. Kathleen lubey 904 History s introduction immediately discredits the text s integrity and establishes its comic spirit. The author s lineage, we learn, is a kind of pastiche: he is born in Wales to a father of Scottish Highland descent and a Lancashire Witch mother whose maternal line extended to Ireland (H, 2). Using his sometimes reliable Second Sight (H, 3), the author practices fortune telling, comes under the mentorship of a Rosicrucian Philosopher (H, 6), and inherits his talisman, which delivers Camillo s story to the author. It is Camillo s history that constitutes the main text. b efore publication, the author edits the manuscript with the input of his landlady and appends voluminous footnotes moral, historical, and critical contributed by a wýorthy gentleman-friend of the landlady (H, 11). The result is the printed text we encounter. The introduction labors to establish that the main text is not to be taken terribly seriously. 16 The story arrives through a dubious medium, the notes are arbitrarily appended, and the author edits the manu- script based on his landlady s level of boredom, cutting until she can hear it out without once yawning (H, 11). b efore the narrative even begins, History resists the familiar pornographic paradigm. Sexually excitable reading is not posited as a focused or singular enterprise. It is, rather, highly mediated: readers are not positioned to read sex earnestly or transparently, but rather to be part of an extended joke, a comic experiment that episodically offers sexual description. Nor is reading about sex envisioned as a private activity tantamount to mastur – bation, an association Thomas l aqueur and Michael McKeon see to be intensifying during the eighteenth century; it is instead figured aýs synchronic exchange among author, landlady, and editor, more closely resembling Harvey s account of sociable erotic reading. 17 b ecause of their collective impact on the narrative, the text is positioned as liter – ally disintegrated, shaped by a motley crew of amateurs and arousing various curiosities among them. In the main narrative, Camillo s sexual development is not portrayed as a linear, uninterrupted process. Rather, his sexual discoveries constitute an adaptable medium through which his world can be experienced genitally, yes, but just as often sensibly, affectively, and cognitively. Sexual encounters lead to thinking and speculating, for hero and reader alike. At times, his sexual actions are altogether unwitting, as in his childhood. Readers observe the development of his appetites as he suckles his mother s breast; in the nursery, where he parses the bawdy jokes of nurses; in the family orchard, where he traumatically discovers his sister s great Wound as she climbs up a Making Pornography, 1749 1968 905 cherry tree; in his first, circuitous sexual experiments with his cousýin Maria, for which both are punished by his parents (H, 31). In all of these early experiences, sex and its bodily effects arrive unannounced to Camillo as points of unsettling confusion. Narrative descriptions of ý sex acts are something of a constant in the plot, but their return is noýt confidently or evenly signaled to the reader, even as Camillo s desires become more conscious and plotted during his grand tour. Camillo s own thoughts reveal uncertainty: until later in the narrative, he is rarely sure how to succeed at courtship and at times appears as flummoxed by the trappings of seduction as are his women partners. He often seeks guidance from his tutor Vilario, whose instructions aim at gratifying Camillo s desires above all else. While the plot is largely structured by Camillo s sexual pursuits, the narrator attends commodiously to the thinking, planning, and frustration of those pursuits, unlike Cleland ýs Fanny Hill, who slip[s] over matters of no importance between seýxual encounters. 18 In these spaces between sexual events, the text explores other topics: domestic life, education, and psychological development. The footnotes move even further afield of a direct discussion of sexuality. Of the fifteen that are dispersed across the narrative, six describe biological and anatomical concerns, such as fertilization, pregnancy, lust, and the hymen; five weigh in on cultural questions, such as friendship between the sexes and women s education; and four use empiricist epistemology to explain how the mind responds to instances of heightened stimulation. The footnotes impinge on the main narrative. On the page, they reduce Camillo s history to one or two lines of printed type, and they sometimes run for pages. Thematically, they challenge the easy path to sexual meaning we find in the main narrative. Rhetorically, they are pedantic, and purpose- fully so, for we are to hear the farcically learned voice as humorously ý discordant with the main text. They boast specialized language, as we see in the first footnote, which explains fertilization: This Doctýrine [of insemination by the male] was more controverted, and less understood, till the ingenious Mr. Leewenhoeck, by his microscopal observations, discovered the Animalculae in the Semen Humanum, which has put the Question beyond all Controversy (H, 15) and this is just a way of introducing the larger question of when the soul animates the fetus, ý which the editor concludes must be when it is yet in the l oins of the Parent (H, 16). He also occasionally calls on the English historical tradition to provide evidence for his claims. He warns women of the impressionability of the fetus, for example, by recalling courtier Davidý Rizzio s murder, a spectacle witnessed by James I s mother during Kathleen lubey 906 her pregnancy that, he insists, affected the temperament of the king. Scientifically, historically, and rhetorically, the footnotes move away from the personal history being narrated above them.The comic effect is therefore no quick, slapstick punctuation of the main text s sexual focus; it is comedy hard-won, where readers meander into detailed, lengthy elaborations that tediously debate quick assumptions of the narrator. Further, the authoritative voice lends itself to a skeptical reaction in the reader. The editor espouses modern reproductive knowledge that emphasizes sexual difference between men and women, but he at times sounds antiquated in his beliefs, such as his concern over the fetus s impressionability. The reader is thus called upon periodically to assess the editor s competence no easy task in an era that, according to Tim Hitchcock, saw the uneven development of an elite medical discourse on reproduction that stood quite apart from an ongoing popular belief in the old humoral model of the body. 19 History might be seen, in fact, to stage the concurrence of these different registers of sexual understanding. Rather than impart authoritative knowledge, this discussion exercises the flexible attentýions of a reader willing to follow narrative paths away from an erotic plot, and to gauge their relevance and accuracy. The text s reprinters in the next century, as we ll see, will find them increasingly bothersome and will delete them without ceremony. In this cumulative model of pornography, myriad speculations of natural philosophy combine with and branch outward from sexual description, but do not remain tethered to arousal as an inevitable endpoint to reading. History indeed offers scenes that conform to pornography more traditionally defined, but even these lend them- selves, in 1749, to philosophical elaboration. One such scene involves a performance by posture girls attended by Camillo and his friends during a Town Ramble in l ondon (H, 122). Camillo is greatly surprised (H, 124) at the postures they strike and marvels that they yet blush even though so many Men fix their Eyes on that Part which all other Women chuse to hide (H, 125 26). The performance indeed centers on the spectacular display of their genitals: [T]he parts of the celebrated Posture Girl, had something about them which attracted his attention more than any thing he had either felt or seen. The Throne of l ove was thickly covered with jet-black Hair, at least a Quarter of a Yard long, which she artfully spread asunder, to display the Entrance into the Magic Grotto. The uncommon Figure of this bushy Spot, afforded a very odd sort of Amusement to Camillo, which was more heightened by the rest of the Ceremony which these Making Pornography, 1749 1968 907 Wantons went through. They each filled a Glass of Wine, and laying themselves in an extended Posture placed their Glasses on the Mount of Venus, every Man in Company drinking off the b umper, as it stood on that tempting Protuberance, while the Wenches were not wanting in their lascivious Motions, to heighten the Diversion. Then they went thro the several Postures and Tricks made use of to raise debilitated l ust. (H, 127 28) being the initiate to this bawdy ritual, Camillo shoot[s] the bridge, and pass[es] under the warm Cataracts presumably, positions himself in some way under or between the women s legs to the amusement of the company (H, 128). 20 The posture girls then masturbate in unison: Having resumed a proper Posture, with wanton Fingers they entered the mysterious Cave, and heaved, and thrust, and riggled, till they opened the teeming Springs, which shot their volatile l iquids into a Wine Glass, each held in the other Hand b ut here the Reader will hardly believe me, though I assure him on the Credit of my Talisman, that what the Glasses received, was mingled with their Wine, and drank off without the least Shock to the Nature of any one present, except Camillo (H, 128 29). Despite repeated requests, the girls refuse the Embraces of the Men, for fear of spoiling their Trade (H, 129), and so prostitutes are called. Camillo manages to entertain two of them simultaneously, and thus concludes the novel s most paradigmatically pornographic episode: it focuses on erotic bodies, masculine pleasure, performative, non-reproductive, and non-domestic sexuality. The scene does not serve a singularly titillating purpose in 1749. It iný fact leads to speculations we might call feminist. The editor interruptsý the main narrative with a footnote that raises abstract and speculative ý concerns emerging from a detail in the main narrative (Figure 2). It questions a passing remark made by the author that the posture girls possess a natural modesty that causes them to blush. The editor rejects modesty as a natural feminine attribute, defining the concept instead ý as a long-standing cultural invention. The author assumes, mistakenly in the editor s view, that modesty is a natural Property of the Soul, and [that] the uneasy Emotions which Women sometimes feel . . . on hearing any Conversation on their Secret parts, or the Act of Generation, is the effect of some innate Principle ý natural to the Sex. I have all the Value in the World for Modesty, but I cannot agree to this Notion of its Original. It is certainly the greatest Ornament of the Sex, but for all that, it is no more than a meer Habit, ý founded on Convenience, and nourished by Custom. (H, 124) Kathleen lubey 908 Figure 2. Footnote in The History of the Human Heart, 1749. Singer-Mendenhall Collection, Rare book and Manuscript library , University of Pennsylvania. The editor provides evidence that modesty is not instinctual genital ý display is practiced by both infants and Indians, he points out and infers that there are artificial motivations behind the strict codes týhat are imposed on English women. but these motivations are laudable for the editor , who goes on to imagine a culture without modesty in which the sexes encounter each other naked. If women s genitals were exposed, men s Organs of Sense (H, 126) would respond accordingly, prevent[ing] the Growth of Dissimulation in Female Discourse (H, 126) preventing, that is, women s ability to pretend they are not desired by men. Were everyone nude, women would have to acknowledge men s erections, rituals of politeness would be desublimated, and a level playing field would be established in which everyone would be aware of everyone else s genital situation. The editor recognizes such a world as impossibly disordered. The firstý Moralists, foreseeing these Inconveniences, feigned a supposititious Making Pornography, 1749 1968 909 Virtue, which they called Modesty, and recommended it to the Fair Sex; this answers all the Purposes of a real Passion, and keeps that Sexý within l imits they would be naturally prone enough to leap over, if not guarded by this imaginary Fence (H, 126). 21 Modesty is instrumental, he concludes; it is a system that maintains the social order. The editor praises this scheme as one that empowers women to determine their social identity and urges parents and educators to impart it as early as possible to female children. Parsed closely, this passage also offers the fleeting insight that women are naturally prone enough to leap oveýr impediments to gender equality: modesty is not natural, but liberty is. The footnote departs from the main narrative in many ways. It distracts from the descriptions of sex acts unfolding above it on the paýge; it strikes a speculative tone that contrasts with the sequential accountý of Camillo s experience; and it isolates what would seem a minor point natural is a passing adjective and bloats it into a ýconcept available for deep questioning. Within this questioning, elements of the pornographic topos genitals and women are reconfigured and defamiliarized, becoming objects not of erotic but of social interest. The suggestiveness of the editor s insights into sexual inequality may or may not be perceived by the eighteenth-century reader, and there is no way to tell how this discussion would affect the reader s response to the narrative description of sexual performance taking place in the main text. Are readers disgusted by the spectacle? Aroused? Curious? Did readers bother reading the footnote? If they did, did they read carefully, skeptically, dimly, impatiently? Did they detect the feminist implications of the editor s observations? The text is unconcerned with stabilizing these questions, but one fundamental premise is clear: in History, reading about sex is a process of awareness and reflection that exceeds erotic response and that is conducive to associations beyond specifically erotic contexts, leading even, as in this case, toý ethical discoveries that might complicate the pleasure of beholding nude women. As this episode and its footnote make clear, the author of History expects readers to balance multiple demands simultaneously as they move through and around this text. Readers and writers seem to have no anxiety about the frequency of erotic episodes, and the pleasures of ý reading appear to reside precisely in the multitasking that is required for a full understanding of sexual meaning and the intellectual possibilities that proliferate from it. At this rich moment in pornography s history, when texts addressing sexual matters were not entirely differentiated from other forms of literature or thought to be at odds with sociable Kathleen lubey 910 behavior, and long before a distinct market for pornography existed, narrative descriptions of sex acts served as vehicles for discussions ofý perception, science, morality, and culture that unfold instead of or in competition with, or in service of, or parallel to erotic satisfacýtion. There were multiple pleasurable outcomes to reading pornography, and these outcomes did not uniformly serve the body. II. THE HISTOR Y OF THE HUMAN HEAR T IN THE ARCHIVE The british library s copy tells us that in its own time, Hi

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