I'll start with this:
Dorothy Thompson writes in her introduction: "'This essay is a rarity among Edward's published work. Although he was throughout his life interested in the philosophy of history and in various theoretical formulations, he concerned himself with these mainly in private reading and private discussion. Why then did he write this essay? He had read the works of Louis Althusser and found very little in them to affect his work. When Althusser appeared on the scene he made little impact on practising historians. For some reason however, he suddenly became a major force among graduate students and some young historians and literary scholars. Most historians would have been prepared to wait for the new influence to demonstrate its validity in the production of innovative work in history; not only did this not happen, but Althusser's followers - even some of the historians among them - began to declare that history was a non-discipline and that its study was of no value. It was the influence that Althusser's writings were having on scholarship that made Edward take on the uncongenial task of putting the case for history against his closed system.'
"The result is a major critique of Althusserian Marxism, or 'theoretical practice', entering closely into questions of epistemology and of the theory and practice of the historian. Around this detailed polemic, Thompson develops a constructive view of an alternative, socialist tradition, empirical and self-critical in method, and fully open to the creative practice evidenced by history - a tradition sharply opposed to much that now passes as 'Marxism'. In converging shafts of close analysis and Swiftian irony, the author defoliates Althusser's arcane, rationalist rhetoric and reinstates 'historicism', 'empiricism', 'moralism' and 'socialist humanism' in a different Marxist inheritance."
This essay is the best single cure for what I might call 'theoritis' I know. It's easy for smart young people flexing their intellectual muscles to get caught up in a theoretical system that seems to have enormous explanatory power: deconstruction, for instance, or Vienna-school free-market economics--and then be blinded by it. So even though Louis Althusser went psychotic and murdered his wife, and his deterministic, schematic, ahistorical version of Marxism is largely and deservedly forgotten except among aging European cultural studies professors. But Thompson's critique is worth reading not only for its thoroughness but for his vision of the individual in society responding to "determining pressures" yet remaining a historical subject. This essay actually generated my longest poem, "The Snarling Gift," a science-fiction narrative whose central character is an adaptation of Thompson's hypothetical working-class woman.
Besides this magisterial essay, the book also includes Thompson's superb response to "natopolitan" political retrenchment on the post-WW2 left, "Outside the Whale," which is centered on close readings of W.H. Auden's revisions of two of his most famous poems, "Spain 1937" and "September 1, 1939." They don't make 'em like Thomson any more.