"The sweeping vantages that typify American landscape painting from the nineteenth century by Thomas Cole and other members of the Hudson School are often interpreted for their geopolitical connotations, as visual attempts to tame the wild, alleviating fears of a savage frontier through views that subdue the landscape to the eye. Zachary Tavlin's "Glancing Visions" challenges the long-standing assumption that visuality in nineteenth-century art and literature was inherently imperialistic or possessive. While there is much to be said for both material, economic, and theological impulses to clear the wilderness, superimpose a national identity, and usher in a Puritanical idyll, many literary figures of the era display a purposeful disdain for the "possessive gaze," signaling instead a preference for subtle glances, often informed by early photography, Impressionism, new techniques in portraiture, and, soon after, the dawn of cinema. The visual subjectivities and contingencies introduced by these media made room for a visual counter-narrative, one informed by a mode of seeing that moves fast and lightly across the surface of things. Tavlin probes Nathaniel Hawthorne's idea of the imagination, one that derives from both the camera obscura (in "The Custom House") and the daguerreotype (in The House of the Seven Gables), each in its way an instance of the "glance" and entirely dependent on temporal moments. The poetry of Frances Ellen Watkins Harper toggles between gazes and glances, unsettling two competing forms of racialized seeing as they pertain to nineteenth-century Black life and racial hierarchies--the sentimental gaze and the slave trader's glance--highlighting the life-and-death stakes of both looking anyone squarely in the eye and looking away. Emily Dickinson's "certain slant of light," syntactical oddities, and her stitching of scraps and fragments into the fascicles that constitute her corpus all derive from a commitment to contingency, "the ungrounded life's only defense against the abyss of non-being." Tavlin investigates, as well, Henry James's vexed but entirely dependent relationship to literary and painterly impressionism, and William Carlos Williams's imagist poetics as a response to early cinema's use of the cut as the basis for a new visual grammar. Each of these literary artists, Tavlin argues--via their own distinctive sensibilities and the artistic or technological counterparts that informed them-refuse the authoritative, all-possessive gaze in favor of the glance, a mode of seeing, thinking, and being that made way for what we now think of as commonplace, namely modernity"--