Eric Reiter’s Wounded Feelings is an exceptional book. It contains great richness and inspires thoughts that can lead in other fruitful directions. Like Reiter, I am a historian by training who teaches law (half of the time in my case). My thoughts on Wounded Feelings draw on both the law and history parts of my work life. I will begin by discussing the law of injury, commending Wounded Feelings as a book that teachers and researchers of common law tort law should take seriously, even as it is both historical and civilian. I will then turn to damages and suggest what Wounded Feelings might start to tell us about this understudied part of the history of private law. Finally, I will turn to class, considering how Reiter’s book may help Canadian historians think about bourgeois culture. In his discussion of defaming the dead and injuries to a family’s honour, Reiter analyzes two cases involving similar claims, one where damage was intended and one where it was not. He begins with a column printed in the Catholic newspaper La Croix on the death of Euphémie Allard. In the course of the article, the author noted that Allard was “nothing more than a concubine” for having been married to a priest. Euphrémie’s daughter Rebecca sued the newspaper because it had both insulted her mother and father and called into question the legitimacy of her own birth. Next, Reiter describes the case of Decelles v. International Shows Ltd. In 1920, the Eden Musée, a wax museum, included a new tableau entitled “The three hanged men,” featuring the likenesses of a trio of men recently hanged for murder in Montreal. The crime, the conviction, and the execution of the three was not secret, and the men’s names were widely published in the press around each event. Nevertheless, family members of the three men portrayed in the exhibit challenged the display as both a criminal libel and defamation. Reiter dissects these cases, along with another, as examples of suing over family honour. He deals with how the cases involve defamation of both the living family members by association and of the dead. In discussing the Allard case, Reiter argues that the editor of La Croix knew he was making a negative and derogatory statement when he published the impugned line. The editor believed the description was correct for Catholic theology. Reiter also suggests the editor knew that he could be accused of defaming the family: at the conclusion of his description of this trial, Reiter recounts how La Croix was sued again a year later, this time for publishing the claim that a politician was a Freemason. Reiter suggests damages for defamation were simply “a controversialist’s cost of doing business.” Reiter does not speak to what the wax museum expected, and likely cannot do based on the sources available. We can surmise that it did not expect the legal trouble it received. In other words, while setting up the display was certainly intentional, doing harm was not. In these cases, the question of intention turns on whether or not the defendants thought they were doing something even potentially defamatory at all. Reiter raises a different issue of intention in several of the other cases. In these cases, the defendants probably recognized they were acting in ways that would harm others, but acted as they did because their employment or even the general tenor of the times appeared to make their actions acceptable. A mob kidnapped and forcibly removed Winifred Parsons and Olive Lindell from Joliette for being Jehovah’s Witnesses. The mob took collective action, …