Bringing together prominent scholars working on literary analysis of Pliny the Younger's Epistulae, this volume of five essays considers the assembly and publication both of individual books and the nine-book corpus. Following a brief introduction by Ilaria Marchesi is John Bodel's long-anticipated piece on the publication of the letters, earlier versions of which were generously shared with colleagues (including this reviewer) and arguably laid the foundation for reconsideration of the construction of the corpus and the complexities of internal resonance and external allusion within it.

Because Pliny does not indicate how his letters were published, Bodel looks beyond dating, heavily relied upon by previous scholarship, to internal indications (explicit and implicit) — addressee, placement, numbering, naming, theme and verbal echoes — in formulating his ideas. He begins with 1.1, which he sets nicely among poetic prefaces (an apt model for a collection of short, polished pieces); because it fails to define the scope of the work, Bodel sees it as introducing a smaller, relatively chronological collection (50) and remaining unrevised by Pliny in later book assemblages to avoid the appearance of artifice. A number of scholars set the publication of the first two books together early in Trajan's reign, and Bodel concurs, but in his analysis of the remaining books, he finds evidence for a schedule much less regulated than the pairs or triads of his predecessors. He concludes that the third book was first published separately, then together with Books 1, 2 and 4, and finally in a slightly revised five-book version; and that, based on its unusual length and the repetition of information from Book 5, Book 6 was published alone. Regarding the retrospective nature of the remaining books, Bodel suggests that 7 and 8, linked by their shared themes of health, character and self-control, were published together, but Book 9 with its marked differences in number and length of letters, appeared separately. As Bodel notes, his reconstruction is speculative (102), but its insights compel the fruitful re-examination and reconsideration of the Epistulae exemplified by the superb essays that follow.

With tongue in cheek, Christopher Whitton writes a series of letters to fellow scholars, examining arrangement in Book 2 from various perspectives (something he is well-suited to do given his exceptional knowledge of the book) and focusing particularly on structural centres around which Pliny deftly balances content. Whitton deconstructs 2.17 and also 2.11, which, paired with 2.10, marks the book's centre and highlights Pliny's two arenas for immortality: literature and oratory. He argues effectively that Roman readers had a good feel for the middle of a scroll, a privileged centre. Whitton then looks closely at 2.5, a seemingly ordinary letter, and finds there a profound statement of Pliny's epistolary programme: individual variety amidst intricate interconnection. It is surely by design that Whitton's analysis, made through various lenses employed also by fellow authors, falls precisely in the middle of this volume.

Ruth Morello considers the arrangement of Book 8, with a focus on contrasting and complementary pairs, beginning with its central letters 8.10 and 11 on the miscarriage suffered by Pliny's wife Calpurnia. In this and other letter pairs in the book, Morello finds variation in Pliny's tone as both a reflection of viewpoint tailored to differing addressees and an indication of what she calls his ‘conscious choice of a good moral or emotional position’ (149). Her analysis argues strongly for sequential reading of the letters as a window into Pliny's commitment to excellence achieved through deliberate and thoughtful behaviour.

In Book 9, Roy Gibson finds both confirmation of artistic arrangement and a darkness whose depth prompts the reader to look for the twilight that precedes it. Gibson notes incipient gloom in the first words of Book 7 — ‘terret me’, signalling the later parade of illness and death. Pessimism becomes even more apparent in Book 8, with even upbeat letters like Pliny's description of the lovely River Clitumnus (8.8) marred by the destructive flooding of the Tiber (8.17). Gibson sees here a commentary on Trajan's ineffectiveness and suggests that the darkness of Book 9 reflects the emperor's extended presence in Rome, during which Pliny has become increasingly disappointed in his fellow senators. Yet Gibson notes that, despite his political disillusionment, Pliny remains optimistic about his personal life, as he looks to his literary immortality.

Marchesi's contribution is an intriguing assessment of Pliny's silence regarding the publication of his letters. Prompted by Martial's frequent references to the production and circulation of his poetry as counterpoint to Pliny's reticence, Marchesi looks at the treatment of household contents as illustrative of the distinction between the two writers. There is a notable lack of furnishing in Pliny's villa letters (2.17 and 5.6), except for a few objects in their inner sanctums. Such items are ephemeral and thus insignificant; only the structures matter. But in Martial (12.32) the contents of Vacerra's house have much to say about him; they are as disgraceful as he. Moreover, when Martial describes Mamurra's villa (9.59), it is empty — only for display — a literary villa. Marchesi sees differing rank in play, with Martial free to say what Pliny will not. In 3.21 Pliny expresses doubt that Martial's poetry will endure and eschews mention of marketing, attempting, Marchesi says, to distinguish his work from that of the poet and to avoid acknowledging the potential impermanence of his own work. Marchesi argues that for Pliny to discuss publication and promotion would be to admit that his books were as transitory as the furnishings of a villa. Pliny wants his letters to resemble the villas he describes, something enduring and refined, something he can be assured will be eternal. And so they have been.