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Chapter 4 focuses on eight perpetrators of familicide (7 male, one female) drawn from 77 cases (76 being male perpetrators) exhibiting a prior history of domestic violence and varying degrees of livid coercion. The author examines the early socialization of offenders, perpetrators’ searches for intimacy, including the lure of romance, and the parts played by aggressive and hostile, livid coercive behavior, sexual jealousy and obsessive attempts to control their partners. These outwardly intimate arrangements required much impression management, with livid coercive hearts evidencing intense shame, rage, and depression. Victim maneuverability, resistance, and agency are consistent themes and convey a strong sense of the contingent nature of domination and the problems associated with commonly used notions of “control” in violent interpersonal relationships. The discussion of the actual killings raises the possibility that familicide fleetingly dissipates or dissolves unbearable feelings of humiliated fury, recovering, momentarily, a lonely patina of pride.

This chapter begins by illustrating how love can simultaneously involve sickness and immorality, using examples of jealousy, unrequited love, and sadomasochism. It then outlines a virtue-oriented conception of healthy love, illustrating how moral and therapeutic conceptions of love overlap. The chapter concludes by replying to Robert Bellah's criticisms of the therapeutic trend regarding love.

The conclusion suggests that many of the features characteristic of jealousy are actually responsible for some of the more distinctive elements of Roman elegy itself. Jealousy is not merely the subject matter of elegy: it creates and structures elegy’s various generic features. Jealousy thus provides a much more satisfying explanation for the specific character of Roman elegy than the various theories about its origins that have typically been put forward.

Immediately following the slaying of Goliath and Saul's mystifying query about who that young slayer was, David becomes the object of Saul's fear and murderous jealousy, a mini‐drama of cat‐and‐mouse that takes up the last half of I Samuel and Saul's suicide. The contrast between David and Saul continues to be spelled out, implicitly but surely, through various repetitions of narrative detail, most conspicuously the motifs of fear and of sword‐and‐spear use. Still another and striking pattern, to be taken up in the following chapter, occurs in the middle of David's fleeing from Saul, when twice David spares the king's life—and spares, as well, the life of a common fool. The two motifs of this chapter plus the triadic pattern of the next serve to further illustrate just what distinguishes David from Saul. Such advancing clarity, of course, functions also to explain better the mind of God in fastening on David rather than Saul.

Chapter 5 studies how goddesses cope with the threat of “the other woman.” It compares free‐spirited Shurpanakha's attempt to seduce Rama with the Gopis’ jealousy for sophisticated Kubja, Krishna's lover in Mathura. The older versions tended towards the burlesque with some problematic behavior of the heroes, which later versions downplay. Shurpanakha becomes the negative example of the vamp who is punished severely, we hardly hear about Sita's reaction. The Gopis’ jealousy of Kubja is extensively described in the medieval sources, but the televised version turns Kubja into an exemplary devotee and completely erases the erotic aspects of the encounter with Krishna. Contemporary films too tend to turn such co‐wives into long‐suffering devotees, absolving the men from all blame and recommending self‐sacrifice in the interest of their men for wife and lover alike. Movies discussed are Hamara Dil aapke paas hai, Satyam Shivam Sundaram, Devdas, Main Tulsi tere aangan ki, and Souten.

This chapter looks at Act III, Scene I — one of the towers of the castle — and examines the idea of Mélisande's hair as object of manifold symbolic significance, the seduction of Pelléas in the magic of the night, and the threatening arrival of Golaud. Intervallic expansion serves as basis for dramatic tension and change of mood. This scene also expresses passion and sensuality in terms of diatonic and chromatic saturation, and represents Golaud and fate by the whole-tone-1 collection. The chapter also explores dramatic parallels and polarities. Increasing passion and impending fate are represented by chromatic (octatonic) compression of the whole-tone set by common tritone projections. This scene reveals the emergence of Pelléas, then Golaud. in the darkness, while Mélisande's dilemma is symbolized by heightened dramatic polarity and complex pitch-set interactions. Finally, Act III, Scene 2, the vaults of the castle; Scene 3, a terrace at the entrance of the vaults, dark and light; and Scene 4, before the castle, are examined. These all develop Golaud's expression of jealousy; based on a primary manifestation of the whole-tone cycles and their cells. The chapter further addresses the principle of polarity.

Most negative emotions are not the direct consequences of real emotion-producing events, but rather occur because people imagine themselves in past or future situations and engage in rumination about them. Even when the threat is real, negative emotions often do not help people deal with the danger. This chapter examines the ways in which people create their own emotional distress by imagining future events, thinking about significant others, creating an ego that must be defended against attack, attributing the causes of their behaviors and emotions, and worrying about the appraisals of other people. Among the emotions discussed are anxiety, depression, anger, jealousy, guilt, shame, and social anxiety.

This chapter investigates the various scripts of invidia, the Latin term from which English “envy” is ultimately derived, though the Latin term is of much wider application. A system or “taxonomy” of scripts is described, and it is shown how the emotion — a form of distress felt when you see another person enjoy some sort of good — ranges from sheer malice to righteous indignation depending on whether or not the person experiencing the emotion is applying some principle of right or fairness. The chapter then shows how the different forms of the script commonly interacted in Roman social life.

This chapter focuses on three specific kinds of delusional confabulation — confabulations associated with the Capgras' syndrome, delusional jealousy (or the Othello syndrome), and the reverse Othello syndrome. The aim is to shed some light on what sorts of causes of belief-acquisition or belief-persistence would support or challenge the idea that beliefs expressed in delusional confabulations in general are beliefs the person is self-deceived in acquiring or retaining. In the case of the confabulations, there are significant grounds for caution about the claim that self-deception is involved. But this is not to say that the same grounds for caution are present in all kinds of delusional confabulation.

This chapter presents the author's reply to his critics and addresses specific interesting issues they raise. He considers it interesting that all three of his critics focus (to varying degrees) on jealousy. This says something about the significance of jealousy in our lives, a significance perhaps not surprising given that it is compounded, in important and complex ways, of fear and anger—two emotions that are, on anybody's account, basic emotions. And jealousy is, at least in relation to its erotic forms, importantly tied to love. Since jealousy operates in the space of fear, anger, and love, it is natural that it should assume a central place in discussions of emotion of the kind we are having now.

While the first stage of Proust's training consists in bringing the acolyte to recognize the importance of “subjective truth” — rule-governed distortion of the data of sense by an individual perspective — over objective fact, the second stage goes further, introducing this time the necessity of full-blown self-deception. If Marcel's experiences of love and jealousy are anything to go by, knowledge of others is often inaccessible and sometimes unendurable. Should we wish to sustain love, therefore — and there are good reasons for doing so — imagination and illusion are going to be indispensable. Yet our illusions must also be lucid, if we are to maintain our dignity; and our illusions are fragile, requiring convoluted strategies for their protection. This is what lies behind the otherwise unaccountable behavior of Marcel with regard to Albertine, object of his love and fierce suspicion. On the one hand, Marcel obsessively investigates her behavior; on the other, he bypasses opportunities that seem to promise him decisive information, and routinely relies on sources that he knows to be untrustworthy. The only possible explanation is that Marcel, at a certain level, does not want to know the truth; if he appears to seek it, it is only in order to give himself the impression that he is attempting to resolve his doubts. Thus, his will to knowledge, as Nietzsche would say, paradoxically ends up serving his will to ignorance, being itself driven by a second-order will to ignorance: a drive to remain unaware of just how much one does not know.

This introduction chapter explains the coverage of this book, which is about William Blake's prophetic poetry in The Four Zoas. This book argues that this work is structured as a coherent, albeit complex and multi-voiced narrative which details the history and outlines the relations that constitute the body of the fallen Albion. It suggests that Blake revision of this poem was designed to open multiple conflicting layers of text or to introduce a providential framework intrinsically. It discusses the elements of transcendence, sublime, love, and jealousy contained in the poem.

Jerusalem's character is informed by many biblical figures – especially the harlot, the bride, and the Woman clothed with the Sun in the Book of Revelation. In his heroine, Blake challenges notions of divine jealousy, the veneration of virginity central to Boehme's vision of Sophia (Divine Wisdom), and the righteousness preached by Joanna Southcott in her dramatic London ministry. In Blake's poem Jerusalem is condemned as a harlot because of her ‘dishounorable’ forgiveness; (Chapter One); she is severed from humanity and the land she seeks to redeem (Chapter Two); in maternal anguish she descends into mechanistic mills and nearly loses her mind (Chapter Three); but then she confronts those who destroy the earth, faces a dragon who eats her, and rises — enabling all living creatures to participate in ‘the Divine Body, the Saviour's Kingdom’ (Chapter Four).

Development of the relationship with Sara Hutchinson. Coleridge's journey to Malta and his reaction to John Wordsworth's death at sea. His ‘involuntary jealousy’ at Wordsworth's unlimited access to Sara, coupled with unbridled admiration of his poetic achievement, particularly in the autobiographical poetry leading to the 1805 Prelude. His misery on realizing that his love for Sara cannot reach a happy conclusion. The after‐life in poetry of his desolate love.

This chapter tells a story of sexual dalliance, jealousy, and female sociability that came before the London archdeaconry court in 1635. It is a tale of strong drink and strong women. The central character was employed as a midwife, and made claims about her midwifery practice to bolster her reputation. This story has tales within tales, and contested claims to the truth, as women argued in public about affronts to their honour. Elizabeth Wyatt became subject to judicial investigation and half a dozen women gave evidence about her. It was heard that she was ‘keeping company at unlawful hours and in suspicious places’ with Abraham Brand. The midwife's principal accuser was Elizabeth Brand, the wife of Abraham of the parish of Christ Church, London.